Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/376

360 PHCEBE GARY. [1840-50. MARTHA HOPKINS. A BALLAD OP INDIANA. From the kitchen, Martha Hopkins, As she stands there making pies. Southward looks, along the turnpike, With her hand above her eyes : Where, along the distant hill-side, Her yearling heifer feeds. And a little grass is growing In a mighty sight of weeds. All the air is full of noises, For there isn't any school. And boys, with turned-up pantaloons, Are wading in the pool ; Blithely frisk unnumbered chickens. Cackling, for they cannot laugh ; Where the airy summits brighten, Nimbly leaps the little calf. Gentle eyes of Martha Hopkins ! Tell me wherefore do ye gaze On the ground that's being furrowed For the planting of the maize ? Tell me wherefore down the valley Ye have traced the turnpike's way, Far beyond the cattle-pasture, And the brick-yard, with its clay? Ah ! the dogwood- tree may blossom, And the door-yard grass may shine, With the tears of amber dropping From the washing on the line. And the morning's breath of balsam Lightly brush her freckled cheek, — Little recketh Martha Hopkins Of the tales of Spring they speak. . When the Summer's burning solstice On the scanty harvest glowed, She had watched a man on horseback Riding down the turnpike-road ; Many times she saw him turning. Looking backward quite forlorn. Till amid her tears she lost him. In the shadow of the barn. Ere the supper-time was over. He had passed the kiln of brick. Crossed the rushing Yellow River, And had forded quite a creek, And his flat-boat load was taken, At the time for pork and beans, With the traders of the Wabash, To the wharf at New Orleans. Therefore watches Martha Hopkins, Holding in her hand the pans. When the sound of distant footsteps Seems exactly like a man's ; Not a wind the stove-pipe rattles. Nor a door behind her jars, But she seems to hear the I'attle Of his letting down the bars. Often sees she men on horseback. Coming down the turnpike rough. But they come not as John Jackson, She can see it well enough ; Well she knows the sober trotting Of the sorrel horse he keeps, As he jogs along at leisui-e. With his head down like a sheep's. She would know him 'mid a thousand, By his home-made coat and vest ; By his socks, which were blue woolen, Such as farmers wear out west ; By the color of his trowsers, And his saddle, which was spread By a blanket which was taken For that purpose from the bed. None like he the yoke of hickory On the unbroken ox can throw. None amid his father's cornfields Use like him the spade and hoe ; And at all the apple-cuttings, Few indeed the men are seen, That can dance with him the Polka, Touch with him the violin. He has said to Martha Hopkins, And she thinks she hears him now, For she knows as well as can be, That he meant to keep his vow, When the buckeye-tree has blossomed, And your uncle plants his corn, Shall the bells of Indiana Usher in the wedding morn. He has pictured his relations, Each in Sunday hat and gown, And he thinks he'll get a carriage. And they'll spend a day in town ; That their love will newly kindle. And what comfort it will give. To sit down by the first breakfast, In the cabin where they'll live.