The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1872-01-26
The Heart Of New England.
sY EDMUND G. srEpMAN

sY EDMUND c. srEpMAN.
0 long are years of waiting. when lovers hearts
By word. that hold in life and death and last the
Long. long for him who wanders far and strives
with all his main,
But crue er yet for her who bides at home and
hides her pain
And lone are tie homes of New England
Twas in the mellow summer l heard her sweet
The barefoot lads and lasses a-berrying went by;
The locust dinned amid the trees the fields were
high with corn:
The white-sailed clouds against the sky like ships
were onward bound;
And blue are the skies of New England.
Her lips were like the raspberries her cheek was
soft and fair.
And LITTLE breezes stopped to lift the tange other
A light wa, in her hazel eyes and she was moth
ing 10th
To hear the words her lover spoke, and pledged
me there her troth-
And true is the word of New England.
When September brought the golden rod and the
And bluer than in August rose the village smoke
and higher,
And large and red among the stacks the rlpened
pumpkins shOne-
One hour, in which 70 say farewell was left to us
And sweet are the lanes of New England
weloved each other truly hard, hard it was to
part
But my ring was on her finger, and her hair lay
next my heart.
"'Tis but year, my darling" said, in one
When our Western home is ready shall seek my
Katie here -
And brave is the hope OF New England
went TO gain home for her, and in the Golden
State
With head and hand planned and toiled and
early work ed and late;
But luck was all against me, and sickness on me
lay.
And ere l got my strength again twas many
And long are the thoughts of New England.
And many day, and many month and thrice
the relllng year,
1 bravely strove, and still the goal seemed never
My Katie: letters told me that she kept her
But now from very hopelessness, my own TO her
And stern is the pride of New England.
But still she trusted in me, though sick with hope
deferred
No more among the village choir her voice was
sweetest heard;
For when the wild northeaster of the fourth long
winter blew.
So thin her frame with, pining, the cold wind
pierced her through
And chill are the blasts of New England.
At last my fortunes bettered, on the far Pacific
shore.
And thought to see old Windham and my pa
tient love once more;
When a kinsman's letter reached me: Come at
once or come too late
Your katie's strength is failing if you love her
Come back TO the elms of New England"
0. it yrqng my heart with sorrow left all else
Andstraight for dear New England I speeded like
nj
boyhood'S home.
And the old cliffs seemed to mock me that had
no sooner come
could not think twas Katie who sat before me
there.
Readine, her Bi6le-'twas my gift-and pillowed
in her chair.
A ring, with all my letters, lay on a little stand
She could no longer wear IT, SO trai her poor
But strong is the love Of New England
Her hairhad lost its tangle and was parted off her
She used TO be joyous girl but seemed an angel
Heavens darling now mine no longer; yet in her
The same dearlove-ig ht gistened, as she soothed
And pure is the faith Of New England
month watched her dying, pale, pale as any
That drops its petals one by one and sweetens as
IL goes.
Ny life was darkened when at last her large eyes
closed in death
And I heard my own name whispered as she
drew her parting breath
Still still, was the heart of Sew England.
Il was a woful funeral the coming Sabbath
day:
We bore her 10 the barren hill on which the
graveyard lay.
And when the narrow grave was filled, and what
me might was done,
Of all the stricken group around l was the lone
lest one
And drear are the hills of New England.
l gazed upon the stunted pines, the bleak No
vember sky,
And knew that buried deep with her my heart
hencetorth would lie;
And waking in the solemn nights my thoughts
still thither go
To Katie. lying in her grave beneath the win
ter snow
And cold are the SHOWS of New England