Brave Men and Women Part 8

Of Garfield's finished days, So fair, and all too few, Destruction which at noonday strays Could not the work undo.

O martyr, prostrate, calm!

I learn anew that pain Achieves, as G.o.d's subduing psalm, What else were all in vain.

Like Samson in his death With mightiest labor rife, The moments of thy halting breath Were grandest of thy life.

And now amid the gloom Which pierces mortal years, There shines a star above thy tomb To smile away our tears.

XI.

WHAT I CARRIED TO COLLEGE.

A REMINISCENCE AT FORTY--PICTURES OF RURAL LIFE.

n.o.body has brought me a kiss to-day, As forty comes marching along life's way;

At least, only such as came in a letter,-- And two hundred leagues from home, the debtor!

So out of my life I will dig a treasure, And feast on a reminiscent pleasure.

Our old New England folks, you know, Little favor to kissing were wont to show.

It smacked, they thought, too much of Satan, Whose hook often has a pleasant bate on.

And even as token of purity's pa.s.sion, Sometimes, I think, it was out of fashion.

So at least in the home my boyhood knew, And of other homes, no doubt, it was true.

My grandsire and grandma, of the olden school, Were strict observers of the proper rule.

And from New-Year on to the end of December, A kiss is something I do not remember.

It seemed, I suppose, an abomination, Somewhat like a Christmas celebration,

Or a twelfth-day pudding in English style, Whose plums are sweet as a maiden's smile.

Hush! fountains New England fathers quaffed at Were surely something not to be laughed at.

They drank, the heavens above and under, Eternity's abiding wonder.

And here, I confess, in the joy of the present, The thought of those days is sacredly pleasant.

Grandma, with the cares of the household on her, In the morning smoked in the chimney corner.

She hung the tea-kettle filled with water While still asleep was her youngest daughter.

Ah! there were reasons, good and plenty, Why she should indulge that baby of twenty.

The rest were all courted and married and flown, And that little birdie was left alone.

Grandmother, when she had finished her smoking, Bustled about--she never went poking--

And fried the pork, and made the tea, And p.r.i.c.ked the potatoes, if done to see;

While grandsire finished his chapter of snores, And uncle and I were doing the ch.o.r.es.

When breakfast was over, the Bible was read, And a prayer I still remember said.

The old folks in reverence bowed them down, As those who are mindful of cross and crown.

My uncle and aunt, who were unconverted, Their right to sit or stand a.s.serted.

And I, I fear, to example true, The part of a heathen acted too.

But there was always for me a glory, Morning and night, in that Bible story.

The heroes and saints of the olden time In beautiful vision moved sublime.

I wondered much at the valor they had, And in wondering my soul was glad.

My wonderment, I can hardly tell, At the boldness Jacob showed at the well

In kissing Rachel, when meeting her first; I wondered not into tears he burst.

Had I been constrained to choose between That deed at the well and that after-scene

When David and Goliath met, My heart on the fight would have certainly set.

And yet there was much for a bashful boy To gather up and remember with joy.

G.o.d bless my grandsire's simple heart, Which made up in faith what it lacked in art,

And led me on to the best of the knowledge Which years thereafter I carried to college.

Tending the cattle stalled in the "linter,"

Going to school eight weeks in the Winter;

Planting and hoeing potatoes and corn, Milking the cows at night and morn;

Spreading and raking the new-mown hay, Stowing it in the mow away;