The Portland daily press., 1874-01-14
POETRY.
The Old Barn.


The ghosty old barn with its weather stained Frame
How often it rises to viewl ,..,ts
In its narrow, green lane, cut In parallel tracncj
Where the heavy farm-wagon wheeled tnl1 next
Its broad folding doors, and the stabie.aooi
And the roof, soaring upward IN gio1 holes and
Save the network Of light from the kno'-no'e' anu
Which scarce cou,d the darkness Hume
The hav.mow. how fragrant and welcome its scent!
ba e sS' bat safe coverts for 'hideand-
The fioor. what platform for play!
On that floor, like the beat Of the pulse, went the
And the huskers, the corn how they huIled!
And when ceased the husking, how merry the dance
Till the stars in the daybreak were dulledi
Next the yellow-brimmed oat-bin the straw-cutter
stood,
The barrel Of chat by its side;
And cast-away plough, broken off at the top,
With clay stains all over it dyed.
A spade, cleft grindstone, saw-buck, and cask,
With a brace Of bright ptchforks, stood near;
And enved the strength that the loads to the loft
With their crescent-bent handles could rear.
Oh, what though the storm clustered fiercely with
And the hail as from catapults iew9
There dozed the meek oxen secure in their stalls;
And with Crumple did nothing but chew.
There chanticleer roamed with his partlets about,
Each en- and sna chin the
Twas picture OF comfort, indeed!
And Ss san beside
With its silver plate trappings near BY
Next champed the two steeds, and what trotters
And Counted It one of my joys
To ride them with halter, barebacked to the pond
Then race with the rest OF the boys.
The lane in the summer, how greenly it smiled
With its milk weeds and tall muliein-spears!
There sliced the long pumpkin-vines, wreathed
49, through the fence,
For trumpets that deafened all ears.
And the pumpkins, what lanterns they made, to be
sure!
What mouths, and what noses and eyes!
And when on my he d famed the horrible face,
How the household resounded with cries!
In the sunset, how jolly to hop, skip, and jump,
And run a swift race to and fro;
Or search in the NOW and the manger tor eggs.
And pocket them cclosely from show:
In the dusk, what clear fun to chase Hghtning-bugs
The beetle to strike from its flight;
Or bawl out, "Bat, bat, come into my hat;'
Or play tag until deep into the night.
Ugh, - hornet the big, yelo hornet. we summed !;
And the butterfly found little grace how we laughed
AS he opened and folded his fan!
And the queer, square-legged grasshopper chirping
How we made him disgorge his brown wine!
OIL a boy is tyrant, as men are, in sooth,
Should fortune bright toward them incline.
Old Crumple so pure as she came to the pail,
We stoned till she waddled away;
What cared we for Molly? secure in the weeds,
We laughed as she searched where we lay.
And Old Tom, purrng softly, at peace on the post
How close grazed the clam-shells we shield,
TflI he Heightened his frame in gallop for life,
While mirth brought the stitch to our side?
And the brave little bantam, with falchion Of spurs
How he pealed forth his challenging cry
Till the pride Of the barnyard came strutting slow
Then the fght-how the feathers would fly!
All the fierce, burning glow Of the soldier we felt
As they fought, while with awtulest yell
We capered. and felt to jump out Of our skins,
Till one, If not both OF them, fell.
tangle of yistas the old barnyard displayed,
With its bins, and its barrels, and all;
Where the spoiled, banished rocking-horse glanced
And the ladder leaned narrow and tall;
And still. save the saw Of the carpenter-rat,
And the drone of the wasp on the walls;
Slight hoof stamps, aud rustlings that ran through
And munchings that came from the stalls.
But alas! the old barn has long since passed away
The lane has been turned to street,
And the fields into court-yards and gardens of flow
All is new-al is strange that meet.
All have shrunken in size, and the distances too
The pond at the wood is near by:
And the long fence trembled to skirt in the night
As pass It, scarce catches my eye
The old barn is gone like the past with its Dreams
Which crowded, chaotic, my brain
All are gone-al are gonei-and yet often wish
could live in their Eden again.
Though the barn, low and dark, is dwelling OF
mark,
: And the lane is street wide and bright,
Yet long to 60 back to that paradise track,
All flashing and living with light.
All are gone-all are gone the soft pictures draw
Not one has Times cruelty spared:
All are gone; and wonder and smile to myself
That for such things ever have cared.
Yet. somehow they bear in their presence glow
That the present can never display;
IT'S the light in the urn alabaster of youth
That soon fades forever away.
And in that sweet light the heart grows pure and
le bright
In the paradise smiling around;
And we wish, DER and DER, were children oncs
more;
And roaming that magical grouud
Its scenes, hsw grotesque and how trivial and tame
And yet, as upon it we dwell,
Like the pool of Bethesda 1T freshens the heart,
And brightens our thoughts with spell.