The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1898-03-31
A Song of Maine.

A Song of Maine.
We publish, this week poem of raj
merit written by Mrs. L FL. Webb
| Pasadena, Cal, and read by Mrs. L.
Morrison at the recent meeting of the SkoN
hogan Woman's Club. 1t was Maine" ds
and the topic was Maine" one ever dear
the heart of the true citizen of our glorio,
State. We have heretofore publisht
poems written by this author, wife of Ho
L, H. Webb, formerly of this town; in fac
We always gladly do so whenever we ha,
opportunity, because OF their poetic meri
and because they are read with great plea
ure by her many warm TRENDS and admire
in Somerset-and their number is legio
somerset Reporter.
MAINE.
[ sing of Maine, whose masts of pine
Like steeds, by winds, are driven
Der stormy seas with flying names,
And heads tossed high to heaven.
They gained the strength upon the hills
With tempests wild to wrestle,
| Till 18th their foam tiecked harness on,
They race off with the vessel.
The winds from off the hills of Maine,
Are always freshly blowing,
The waters always bright and clear,
Within her rivers flowing.
A thousand lakes like mirrors bright,
Reflect her lights and shadows,
A thousand streams like silver chains,
Go winding through her mead ows.
And there the forests stretch afar
Like some grand army sleeping,
| With sentres tall on every hill,
Their silent vigls keeping
Deep in their shades the surly bear
Oft roams the dark woods over,
And soft eyed deer, by hunters chased,
Go leaping to their cover.
What crystal ice the stream and wind
From off her border, carries,
What splendid monuments and shafts
From out her granite quarries
She sends from regions in the north
The oak and pine unfailing,
And to the ports of every CLINE
Her loaded ships are sailing.
Though Maine has many varying moods,
She ne'er the heart estranges
| There is charm in all her ways,
A beauty in her changes,
When cold winds blow the winter snow
We never mind the weather,
But close and warm defy the storm
And draw more near together.
When from the binding maple boughs
We hear the first red robin
What pent-up JOY there seems to be
| Within his bosom throbbing!
| And when across the soft blue sky
\ The tleecv clouds are scudding,
\ And snow banks in the hollows lie,
To hide the May flowers budding;
And grasses creep from sheltered hooks,
Along the gardens borders,
/ And gently wave their yerdant locks
How sweet the fresh spring odOrs
4 A soft wind comes from ont the south
i nd DER the brown bills blowing
/ Nnlt oil no i,... M, 4 li.L ~,
And sets their currents flowing
The heart of Nature that has lain
SO silently, fulfilling
/ Exchanging laws, now feels new life
Through all her arteries, thrilling.
/ And like a bride, through whose white VI
We catch shy maiden glances,
SO sprung, in sunHt robes of mist,
Toward us slow advances.
AS summer comes and long bright days
Appear in glad succession,
| And sparkling showers bring out the fl owe
10 join the gay procession,
| We lay aside our work and care
And take what Natures giving
And by the brooks and lakes and woods,
Find life still worth the living.
| Tie summer wanes and Autumn walks
Along the wayside hedges,
| And waves her "goIuen-rod" aloft
With tasses on the edges;
| The Frost has kissed her olive cheek
And left a scarlet blossom,
| Ihe sumac leaves are in her hair,
The ripe fruit on her bosom;
And when she lifts her royal hand
and uses all her brushes
What glorious landscapes fl ii the land;
She colors all she touches.
And last of all when woods are bare,
We see spirit, gliding
Like gold ETHEREAL, through the air,
The branches brown dividing;
| And know it is some summer dead,
Whose soul is filled with yearning
For golden days, forever fed
Once more to earth returning.
| And 40 the Indian summer haunts
The upland and the meadow,
A .pensive ghost in golden mist,
Departed summers shadow!
/ And so the seasons come and 60,
Each one welcome conner,
With juggling bells o 'er Winters snow,
And perfumed bells of summer,
Though through the whole thermometer,
The hayward mercury ranges!
| The sons of Maine are stable men,
The season, only, changes.
o, there are skies more fair, than bend
Above Names rugged bosom,
Where all the flakes of snow that fall
come from the scented blossom;
Where fronded palms lift up their heads
Like ferns, to giants springing,
And mocking birds through all the night
| Unto the moon are singing;
And violets look with shy blue eyes
Through lashes curling, tender,
And roses bloom the whole year round,
I In more than regal splendor;
But there were never hearts that beat
Beneath the arch of heaven,
| More brave and true, and strong and sWe,
Than in Names men and women.
AS steadfast as their granite hills,
| They make, the wide world over,
The best OF rulers in the State,
| The best of friends and lovers.
| Il ow oft in thought we turn to Maine
| When silver-footed shadows
Let down the sunsets golden bars
And steal across the meadows.
Above the mountains, looming far,
The colOrs grow uncertain,
The night wind whispers to the star
Through twilight's purple curtain,
And floating DER the garden beds
Where dews are softly falling
On flowers in prayer, with Bonded heads,
We hear our mother, calling.
o. mother State Though far we roam,
Yet when the shadows gather
AT eventide, you call us home,
Aud draw us near together.
EMILY P. WEBB,
Pasadena, Cal, Jan. IT, 1898.
Messrs. Harper & Brothers announ
| hn foil 60