Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1883-05-26
THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING.

Backward gazing through the shadows,
As the evening fades away,
perceive the little footprints
Where the morning sunlight lay
Worm and mellow, on the pathway
Leading TO the open door
OF the cabin in the clearing,
Where my soul reclines once more.
% J that cabin in the clearing,
Where my Mary came bride,
Where our children grew to love US,
Where our little Robbie died.
Still in 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 90 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 fashioned
By the builders ready palms
Hall way up the fus wide throated,
Does the hickory crosstree rest,
Whence depend the pot and kettle,
Where the great FIRE blazes best.
0 l smell the savory venison,
Hear the horniny simmer low,
As my Mary stirs the embers
That were ashes long ago.
Once again hurry homewsrd,
When the day u toll 10 Ger,
And ms heart leaps up in gladnes5,
For IN this wide open door
Mary, In her homespun habit,
With her hand above her eyes,
Gazes all around the clearing
TIL my coming form she spies.
It's for her am a hunter,
And the feet deer's sudden bound
Tells how swift and sure my aim is,
Ere his liie-tide dyes the ground;
It's for her au an angler.
And the spotted beauties WOO
From their paradise Of waters
Ere the sun has dried the dew.
And the wild rose and the bluebell
That pluck with gentle care,
Are for her Who rules the cabin
Mary, Of the raven hair;
It's for her sInite the forest
Day by day with myriad blows;
lis for her the c1rnstalk tassels,
Add the golden pun pkin grows.
Often, winding through the woodlands,
NeighbOrs come with song and shout,
Eager for day Of pleasure
Where the lst,h-key hangeth out,
And with ready hands assist us
At our labors, while the zest
OF our conversation brightens,
Till the sun goes down the west
Aye, and once again see them,
On a sad, sweet summer day,
When the robin on the maple
Seems 70 sing MS Forll away
And the clearing swims around me
In tangled dream of woe,
And my weeping Mary whispers,
Tell me why he mad TO gOP
81 Why he had TO go =" Heaven
Did God want our little boy :"
Tis the old unanswered question
Caakeriuy 10 the heart Of Joy,
And subduiug many a pleasure,
AS | see those friends of old,
Hiding tenderlY our darling,
In the forests virgin mold.
Now that cabin in the clearing
Is but dust, blown here aud there,
Where the palBitatng engines
Breathe their darkness on the air,
Where my forests lowered in beauty,
Now a smoking village stands,
And the VOWS Of factories cluster
Gsi1nlY on my fertile lands.
Scarcely room enough Is left me
For this double, clustering rose,
Where the baby and its mother
Side by side 10 earth repose;
Soon the last fond trace will vanish
Which proclaims that they have been
But no matter heavens gateway
Opened vide to let them in.
Yet with Mary Oft linger,
Where the well-sweep slanteth low,
Planning over all oar labors,
When 10 plant aud what to SOW,
How 70 ride to sunday meeting
Fixing on proper day
For the rolling and the quilting,
And the young folks evening play.
" Eighty, and I memory only p
Is that what you speak of me !
Well, the memory is q blessing,
Aud its pictures fair TO see:
While the fairest and the sweetest
fingers with the evermore-
lis the cabin IL the clearing,
And my Mary at the door.
LIB S. Park