The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1874-07-17
THE sPINNING-WHEEL.
ny n ". TAYLOR.

white pine floor and low-ceiled room,
wheel ana "A reel and great brown loom,
the windows out and the world in bloom
pair OF swifts " in the corner, where
The grandmother sat in hen rush wrought chair,
And pulled at the distaffs tangled hair;
And sang to herself az she spun the tow,
While " the little wheel" ran as soft and low
Az muffied brooks where the grasses grow
And lie one way with the waters flow.
AS the Christ's field lilies free from sin
SO she grew like them when she ceased TO spin,
Counted her "knots " and handed them in
% The great wheel" rugged in its harness stands
A three-legg'd thing with its spindle and bands =
Ard the slender spokes, like the willow wands
That spring so thick in the low, wet lands,
Turn dense at the touch of woman's hands.
As the wheel whirls swift. how rank they grow
But how sparse and thin when the wheel run
Forward aud backward, and to and fro!
There's heap of rolls like clouds in curl
And bright-faced, springy, barefoot girl
She gives touch and a careless whirl,
She holds a roll in her shapely hand
That the sun has kissed aud the wind has famed,
And its mate obeys the wheels command.
There must be wings on her rosy heel
And there must be bees in the spindled steel
A thousand spokes in ths dizzy wheel!
Have you forgotten the left-breast knock
When you bagged the bee in the hoyhock,
And the angry bur of an ancient clock
All ready TO strike-came out of the mill,
Where covered with meal the rogue still,
Till it made your thumb and finger thrill
1t is one two, three-the roll is caught
lis a backward step and the thread is tsut
hurry OF wheel and the roll is wrought
Tis one, two, three, and the yarn runs on,
And the spindle shapes like whte-pine cone
As even and still as something grown.
The barefoot maiden follows the thread
Like somebody caught and tethered and led
Ur to the buzz of the busy head.
With backward sweep and willowy bend
Monarch would borrow if maiden could lend,
She draws out the thread to the white woods end.
From English sheep of the old-time farm,
With their legs fair a woman's arm,
And faces white as girls alarm.
She breaks her thread with an angry twang,
Just az if at her touch harp-string rang
And keyed to the quaint old song she sang,
That came to a halt on her cherry lip,
While she tied one knot that never could slip,
And thought of another, when her ship
All laden with dreams in splendid guise-
Should sail right out of the azure skies,
And lover bring with great brown eyes
All, broad the day, but her work was done
Two ''runs "by reel She had twisted and spun
Her two score knots " by set of sun,
With her one, two. three, the wheel beside,
And the three, two, one, of her backward glide,
SO to and fro i'll calico pride
Tin the bees went home and daytime died
In apron white the white sea-foam,
She gathered the wealth of her velvet gloom,
And rallied it i'll with tall back comb.
She crushed the dews with her naked feet,
The track of the sun golden street,
The grass was cool and the air was sweet.
The girl gazed up at the mackerel sky,
And 1t looked like pattern lifted high;
But she never dreamed ofanges nigh.
And she spoke right out: "Do just see there
What blue and white for the clouded pair
I'm going TO knit for my Sunday wear !"
The wheel is dead and the bees are gone,
And the girl is dressed in a silver lawn,
And her feet are shod with golden dawn.
From wind-swung tree that waves before,
shadow if lodging in at the door
Pickering ghost on the white pine floor
And the cat, unearned in the Shadowslaw,
just touched its edge with a velvet paw
To hold 1t still with an ivory claw!
But it's spectral cleak is blown about,
And moment more and the ghost is out
And leaves us all in shadowy doubt.
If ever it fell on floor at all,
Or If ever IL swung along the wall,
Or whether shroud or phantom shawl
Oh, brow that the old time morning kissed
Good night, my girl of the double and twist,
Oh, barefoot yisioni vanishing mist
-Scribner's for July.