Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/247

My tiny boat, with my young playmates round
When school was o'er, is dearer far to me,
Than all these bold, broad waters. To my eye
They are as strangers. And those little trees
My mother nurtur'd in the garden bound,
Of our first home, from whence the fragrant peach
Hung in its ripening gold, were fairer sure
Than this dark forest, shutting out the day."
—"What, ho!—my little girl," and with light step
A fairy creature hasted toward her sire,
And setting down the basket that contain'd
His noon-repast, look'd upward to his face
With sweet, confiding smile.
                                               "See, dearest, see,
That bright-wing'd paresquet, and hear the song
Of yon gay red-bird, echoing thro' the trees,
Making rich music. Didst thou ever hear
In far New-England, such a mellow tone?"
—"I had a robin that did take the crumbs
Each night and morning, and his chirping voice
Did make me joyful, as I went to tend
My snow-drops. I was always laughing then
In that first home. I should be happier now
Methinks, if I could find among these dells
The same fresh violets."
                                        Slow night drew on,
And round the rude hut of the Emigrant
The wrathful spirit of the rising storm
Spake bitter things. His weary children slept,
And he, with head declin'd, sat listening long
To the swoln waters of the Illinois,
Dashing against their shores.