Northern tribune. [volume] (Cheboygan, Mich.) 1875-1885, 1883-04-21
THE CABIN TIE CLEARING.

Backward gazing through the shadows,
AS the evening fades away,
1 perceive the little footprints
Where the morning sunlight lay
Warm and mellow. on the pathway
Leading to the open door
OF the cabin in the clearing,
Where my soul reclines once more.
O! that cabin in the clearing,
Where my Mary came bride,
Where our children grew to love us,
Where our little Robbie died.
Still i'm memory blooms the red bud
BY the doorway, and the breeze
Tingles with the spicewOod's OdOr
And the catbird's melodies.
And mind the floor of puncheOns,
Rudely laid on joist and sill,
And the fireplace shaped and beaten
From the red clay on the hill;
With the chimney standing outside,
Like blind man asking aims,
Wrought of sticks and clay and fashiOne
BY the builders ready palms.
Half way up the flue e-throated,
Does the hickory crOsstree rest,
Whence depend the pot and kettle,
Where the great fire blazes best.
Oh! l smell the savOry venisOn,
Hear hOniny simmer low,
As my Mary stirs the embers
That were ashes long ago.
Once again hurry homeward,
When the day of toll is DER,
And my heart leaps up in gladness,
For in this wide open door,
Mary i'm her hOmeSDun habit.
With her hand above her eyes,
GaZes all around the clearing
Till my coming form the spies.
IT'S for her am hunter,
And the fleet deel's sudden bound
Tell how swift and sure my aim is,
Ere his life tide dyes the ground;
IT'S for her am an angler,
And the spotted beauties woo
From their paradise CT waters,
Ere the sun has dried this dew.
And the wild rose and the bluebell
That plucked with gentle care,
Are for her who rules the cabin
Mary, OF the raven hair;
IT'S for her 1 smite the forest
Day by day with myriad blows;
IT'S for her the cornstalk tassels,
And the yellow pumpkin grows.
Often winding through the woodlands,
NeighbOrs come with song and shout,
Eager for day OF pleasure
Where the latch-string hangeth out,
And with ready hands assist us
At our labOrs, while the Zest
OF our conversation hightens,
Till the sun goes down the west.
Aye, and once again see them,
On sad, sweet summer day,
When the robin on the maple
Seems to sing his soul away;
And the clearing swims around me
In tangled dream Of woe,
And my weeping Mary whispers,
''Tell me why he had to gO%'
-"Why he had to gop' o Heaven!
''Did God want our little bOy!'
IT'S the old unanswered question
Cankering in the heart Of JOY,
And subduing many pleasure
As / see those friends OF old,
Hiding tenderly our darling,
In the forests virgin mold.
Now, that cabin i'm the clearing
Is but dust, blown here and there,
Where the palpitating engines
Breathe their darkness on the air;
Where my forest lowered in beauty
Now smoking village stands,
And the rows of factories cluster
Grimly on my fertile lands.
Scarcely room enough is left me
For this double clustering rose,
Where the baby and its mother
Side by side i'm earth repose;
Soon the last fond trace will vanish
Which proclaims that they have been;
But no matter-Heaven's gateway
Opened wide to let them in.
Yet with Mary Oft linger,
Where the well-sweep slanteth low,
Planning over all our labOrs,
When to plant and when to sow;
How to ride to Sunday meeting
Fixing on a proper day
For the rolling and the quilting,
And the young folks evening play.
''Eighty and memory OnlyP'
Is that what you speak of me!
Well, the memory is blessing,
And its pictures fair to see;
While the falrest and the sweetest
fingers with me evernOre-
IT'S the cabin i'm the clearing,
And my Mary at the door.
BENZ. s. Parker, in Cincinnati Times-Star.
~-.--------
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