The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales In Verse

T >> Thomas Cowherd >> The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales In Verse

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Once, dear child, O strange to tell,
From brother Willie's knee he fell
And sadly burned his little arm,
Which greatly filled us with alarm.
He cried, as might have been expected,
And quick relief was not neglected.
But while his heart was fit to burst,
He spied a wound on Mamma's hand,
And though his own w as far the worst,
The sight of Hers he could not stand.
He ceased his crying, gave a sigh,
"Poor Mamma's sore," [Footnote: A literal fact] became his cry.
My darling child, this act of thine
Makes me right glad to call thee mine.

But I must hasten; one remains
Who well deserves my ablest strains.
This is my Alfred--lovely babe
A smiling cherub sure art thou,
How can I best describe thy charms?
How can I write about thee now?
Nearly four months have passed away
Since thou first saw the light of day;
And in that time we've hardly had
One tedious night with thee, my lad.
By day thy chirruping and smiles
Thy own dear mother's heart beguiles,
And makes me run a dreadful risk
Of falling to idolatry!
But let me tell thee, little _Frisk_,
This will not do for thee or me!
'Tis time to quit; I cease to write,
And bid my precious babes good night!

TO ALFRED,
JUST LEARNING TO WALK

1854

O, Alfred dear, thou wilt, I fear,
Get burned before 'tis long;
Thy little tricks with fiery sticks
Have called forth this my song.

That roguish eye seems to defy
All I can say or do.
Thy chubby face does not disgrace
The food thou art used to.

Come now, my boy, thy skill employ
In walking to Papa;
Well, now, my child, I own I smiled
To see thee choose thy _Ma_.

But still I will that thou fulfill
My just commands to thee;
Sometime I shall soon make thee squall
For disobeying me!

And now a walk or else some talk
I do insist upon;
But mind that chair or thou wilt fare
Not cry well, my son!

Thy limbs are strong, so don't be long,
Nor mind that little mountain;
Ah, down he goes! and out there flows
Big tear-drops from their fountain.

Fear not, my son, thou hast well done;
I'll wipe thy tears away,
And lie in hopes on Life's rough slopes
Thou wilt not go astray.

Now come again, I can't refrain
From tuning one more trial;
Don't stagger on so woe-begone,
But use some self-denial.

Thou wilt have need if thou succeed
In life, to use it often,
And I have found in moving round
It does life's trials soften.

Mind thou the stove! nor further rove,
For fear thou get a burning
Let not thine eyes in such surprise
Upon thy Pa be turning.

See, there at last thou hast got past
The dangers which beset thee,
So in my arms, proud of thy charms,
I'll hug thee if thou let me.

I fain would hope that thou wilt cope
With ills besetting mortals,
Depending on God's Arm alone,
And so reach Heaven's portals.

TO AMELIA
MY LAST INFANT DAUGHTER

1854

On the fifth of chill November
Came my Amie unto me,
Adding one more lovely member
To my numerous family.

Daughter, thou art welcome truly
To the care we can bestow;
May we do our duty duly
While we stay with thee below.

Think not, daughter, we will slight thee,
Since so many claim our love;
Gladly--wish we to delight thee,
As we look for help Above.

Thou art to us, little charmer,
Dear as any child we own;
And our love to each grows warmer
For the sorrows we have known.

Take then, daughter, take our blessing,
It comes forth from loving hearts;
Though we shrink hot from confessing
Oft we fail to act our parts.

TO FREDRIC

Fred, thou art six months old
This very day!
And I no more withold
From thee a lay.

That rosy, smiling face--
Thou need not fear--
Has weeks since claimed a place
'Midst "rhyming gear."

Thy winning, childish pranks
Make further claim
To set thee in the ranks
Of infant fame.

But when I think what troubles
Thou hast passed through,
The obligation doubles
What I've to do--

In rhyming for thee, Fred,
My dark-eyed boy;
And I have left my bed
To sing the joy.

I feel from day to day
In seeing thee
So full of lively play--
Most sweet to see.

By such most lovely smiles,
Such crowing, too,
Ah, Fred, thy many wiles
Have charmed me through!

'Tis true _Ma_ lost much rest,
By day and night,
Through thee when so distressed.
Which scarce seemed right.

But doubtless 'twill be seen
To be for good,
Since God our Friend has been,
And by us stood.

Then, with this full in view
I 'll close my rhyme,
And hope that it may do
Thee good some time.

TO MY DAUGHTER IDA,
WHEN THREE MONTHS OLD.

1859.

Ida, it is a burning shame
That thy short, sweet poetic name
Has not a single lay called forth
From my _cranium_ since thy birth!
Thy pale-face, brown-eyed style of beauty
Every day points out my duty.
Conscience, too, whispers 'tis not right
That I this task should longer slight.
So now I take thee on my knee
And woo the Muse right eagerly,
In earnest hope she'll lend her aid
Until this tribute be well paid.

Ida, thou art of babes the best;
This much at least must be confessed,
Unless thy mother's words are wrong--
Words shadowing forth Affection strong.
Thou art indeed, sweet tempered pet,
As good a child as I have met.
And oh, my heart for thee' has bled,
When thou wert forced to be spoon-fed,
Because of Mamma's trying weakness.
Yet this thou didst still bear with meekness,
And ever from the first thy cries
Had for companions tearful eyes,
And such a mournful, piteous mien
As is not in bad temper seen.
When I saw this thou may'st be sure,
I felt quite ready to endure
Thy tediousness by night or day,
While mother on a sick-bed lay.
Now, as reward for all my toil,
Thou cheerest me by many a smile.
And while I gaze on thy sweet face
Bedecked with every infant grace,
My soul's best feelings are called Forth--
I see in thee increasing worth.

Say, sweetly smiling, pretty creature,
So perfect in each limb and feature,
What means that dreamy sort of look
Thou wear'st at times? Art thou then struck
With wonder at our household ways?
At brother's, sister's childish plays?
I would give something just to know
How thoughts within the mind can grow.
I fancy sometimes thou art thinking
On what's around thee or else drinking
Thou fill of heavenly visions sweet,
Such as would prove to me a treat:
Art silent still? Ah, then, young Miss,
Thou must eve'n give a parting kiss!
Farewell, my dear, my lovely child,
Fair Ida, with the look so mild!

TO MY WIFE,
ON THE THIRTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR WEDDING DAY

SEPT. 26, 1860.

A thousand joys, my darling wife,
Be thine on this our marriage day!
And now I'll sing; for such a life
As we have led deserves a lay
Fresh-gushing from a heart like mine--
By thee well known to be sincere.
O, where are charms compared with thine?
Which, after years of toil appear
More fresh and fair,
Though much of care
Has fallen daily to thy share.

On me old Time has marked his flight--
My outward frame doth tell me this;
But still, sweet dove, my heart's as light
As when at first I found the bliss
Of Ellen's love in silken bands.
And what the future has in store
I know not, but my soul expands
Assured thou lov'st me more and more.
This rapturous thought
With blessings fraught
By gold could never have been bought.

But love--such love as we now feel
Ten thousand ills can face and foil,
And passing years afresh reveal--
We better are for cure and toil!
I would not then my lot exchange
For one where pampered luxury
The hearts of man and wife estrange,
And all is insincerity.
A lot like this,
Devoid of bliss,
Dear wife, may we forever miss!

What though when let but forty-three
I sober _Grandpa_ have become?
With thee, my Ellen, yes, with thee
I can enjoy our humble home;
And the dear children to us given,
With those left by my first loved spouse,
Can by God's blessing make a heaven
For me in yet a poorer house!
The world dreams not
That in our cot
We pure, substantial joys have got.

As thus I sing in gladsome strain
Of my unmatched felicity,
There comes an almost endless train
From the deep founts of Memory,
Of pleasing pictures which retain
Poetic colors lich and rare.
Yet fearing they might make me vain,
I breathe to God this fervent prayer:
Lord, shield me well,
From potent spell
Of syren Pleasures, and Pride quell!

Oh, let us humbly now renew
Our vows to God, my sweetest love!
He then will shed His grace like dew
Upon us all, and bid the Dove
Of steadfast Peace assure our souls.
Thus may we battle on in life,
And as each season forward rolls
Feel stronger for the daily strife
Until at last
Our lot is cast
With those who into heaven have passed.

TO THE SAME,
ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR MARRIAGE.

SEPTEMBER 26, 1872.

Dear Bride of five-and-twenty years,
I gladly give to thee this song.
That thou wilt spurn it I've no fears,
For love still reigns within thee strong,
And will reign long as life shall last;
For it has stood the fiery test
Of anguished moments in the past--
When out of pain came peaceful rest,
Until our life
Of toil and strife
Is joyful still, my darling wife.

When last I penned a lay to thee
I little dreamt that youthful charms
Would cling to thee at forty-three;
But now the thought my spirit warms
_That I can see thee lovelier grown_!
While fond affection constant beams
Within thy lovely eyes, light brown,
Thus realizing my young dreams.
For then I thought
The wife I sought
Should bring to me what thou hast brought.

A face lit up with genial smiles,
A heart to love through trials great,
With winning ways, with pleasant wiles,
To cheer me in life's troublous state.
I pictured her both fair and neat,
With voice so soft, with wifely skill,
To make my home a snug retreat
From many kinds of mortal ill.
_Such hast thou been_,
My own heart's queen,
As good a wife as e'er was seen.

What though we've not attained to wealth?
Have still to toil for daily bread?
So long as God gives precious health,
We have no worldly needs to dread,

For, day by day our table's filled,
Our dearest children constant fed;
With many comforts life to gild,
Our years enjoyably have sped.
Then we'll not care
For larger share
Of riches, which oft prove a snare.

Then, darling, let us battle on,
The future may ev'n brighter prove;
But if it does not we have won
A glorious boon in such true love
As well might smooth a harder life.
And few, I trow, have lived so long
wedded state with joys so rife.
Then fear not, let our hearts be strong
In Christ our Lord,
And let His Word
Yield us the comfort therein stored.

Now, as the ears flow swiftly by,
With crosses manifold to hear,
We still will look to Him on high,
Who has permitted us to share
So much of matrimonial bliss,
And in that bond has kept us true.
Let's deem it best His rod to kiss,
And keep His promises in view.
So, side by side
Our lives may glide
Till death bring us o'er Jordan's tide!

TO THE SAME,
ON THE THIRTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR MARRIAGE.

SEPTEMBER 26, 1877.

Full thirty years of wedded bliss,
My darling wife, we have enjoyed;
And still I can with rapture kiss
Thy sweet, chaste lips--for I am void
Of every fear that thou wilt fail
To love me till our race is run.
Our mutual love is still as hale
As though we had but just begun
To link our fate
In marriage state,
Where joys for sorrows compensate.

So, filled with sense of God's rich love,
Let us those decades three review;
For though we have with trials strove
To keep our happiness still new,
We've had Religion's holy aid
Still shedding sunshine on our way,
As we pursued our humble trade
And struggled on from day to day.
Our hearts imbued
With gratitude
Call loud for vows to God renewed.

Now looking back through all these years,
'Midst chequered scenes of daily life,
A family of eight appears
For thee to love and serve, my wife!
Thou wert indeed a youthful bride,
But weak in body--not in heart--
As thou my cherished hearth beside
Sat down, content to do thy part.
And well I know
No lot below
Was e'er more free from earthly woe.

In this review I can't forget
How oft in sickness, grief and pain,
Thy loving heart our needs has met,
While solace rich came in thy train.
Nor when thyself on sick bed lay,
Racked with _Neuralgia's_ maddening pangs.
How Patience kept the wolf at bay,
And made him soon withdraw his fangs.
My darling sweet,
'Tis surely meet
I thee with song like this should greet!

Nor yet when by that dreadful fall
Thy limbs were bruised, thy system shook,
How easily I can recall
Each winning smile, each tender look,

As I attempted to alleve
Thy sufferings great for many days.
And while I could not help but grieve,
I saw thy meekness with amaze;
For no dread pain
Could triumph gain
O'er thee, nor did'st thou once complain.

Then, O my darling, join with me
To celebrate our Father's praise!
For he has kept us lovingly
From hankering after worldly ways.
Raise then our Ebenezer high!
Join, children, in my joyful song!
Lay ever disagreement by,
That you in, union may be strong.
Thus let us wait
At Wisdom's gate,
Till Christ in turn shall each translate.

FAREWELL TO MY HARP

Farewell my rude Harp and my still ruder Lyre!
For season your tones may not fall on my ear;
At the _bench_ will hard labor repress rhyming fire,
And Fact over Fancy triumphant appear.

Yet I will remember the exquisite pleasure
For full thirty years freely rendered by you;
How oft in that time you have proved a rich treasure--
Still constant abiding and evermore true.

Again and again bring afresh to my mind.
How in youth your wild minstrelsy ravished my soul
Till I became daily to musings inclined,
And strong, gushing impulse that scarce brooked control.

I oft will recall how you chased away sadness,
As sore family tumbles my heart did affright
When a fond, faithful partner, whose presence was gladness
Was reft from my side--turning day into night!

Nor forget soon the dirges you poured o'er the tomb
Enclosing both her and our infant so dear;
Whose soul-stirring notes dissipated my gloom,
And since have refreshed me through many a year.

Ah, no! those sweet _memories_, fresh in me springing,
Shall nerve to new efforts in God's holy cause;
And hearing within me your melodies ringing,
I'll steadfastly aim at observing His Laws.

THE END.

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