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Poems
and Essays
by
Joseph Howe
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THE
PROMISE.
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| [While
rambling through the County of Sydney, I was forced,
by heavy rains, to seek shelter in a Log House,
with a family who had seen better days, but who,
from the pressure of misfortune, had been obliged
to settle in the forest. From the old lady, who
was at her wheel, I learned the family history.
Three of her daughters had married within a few
months after the clearing was begun. “While
we were all together,” said she, “we
were company for each other—but when the
girls were married, the old man began to lose
heart—for he thought the others would go
too, and we should be left alone in the wilderness.
But Agnes cheered him up, and promised to stay
with him three years at least. That time is past—but
she has kept her word, though she might, if she
chose, have been married long since.” There
was something to my mind, exceedingly touching
in this voluntary surrender of the [Page
139] prospects and pleasures of youth,
for the solace and support of age; and if I have
not done justice to the subject, it is certainly
not because it is unpoetical. I had passed the
place some years before, about the time when it
is probable the promise had been made. On my second
visit, the hopes which I have attributed to the
girl had been partially realized, and a few years
more will probably place the family in a situation
of great comfort and independence.] |
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Nay,
do not droop, my Father, I will stay,
Though all should leave thee midst the black’ning
trees;
I will not go, though better prospects tempt
To homes where less of hardship and of toil
Perchance await me. I will not forsake
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5 |
The
hut, which Age and Fortune’s sad decline
Forced thee within the Wilderness to rear.
Then do not droop, my Father—check the sigh
That o’erwrought feelings, woven from former
wrecks
And present desolation, vainly prompt.
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10 |
We may
be happy here—and that which seems
A curse, may yet o’erflow with lasting joys.
Trust me it shall—though now our clearing
wears
A dreary aspect—though burnt logs and stumps
Deform the scene, and leave but scanty space
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On which
the grain its treasures may unfold,
(Our only hope when Summer’s past away;)
Though our Log Hut but poor defence affords
Against the rain, or Winter’s searching blast,
(Unlike the ample home of other days,)
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Yet
never droop, my Father; we will toil
With steady aim, and meek undaunted hearts,
Until the Wild shall “blossom as the rose,”
And plenty crown our hospitable board. [Page
140]
From
morn till eve shall Agnes at your side
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Your
spirit soothe and every labor share;
Attentive still, each step, each thought to save,
And chase the shadows from thy anxious brow.
Over the wounds that Poverty inflicts
Upon the noble mind, I’ll pour the balm
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30 |
That
from youth’s sanguine disposition springs,
And catch each fugitive delight, and bid
It nestle where Despair so lately dwelt.
Though
no society, nor books, nor friends,
Here in the Wilderness their pleasures strew,
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We’ll
have no lonely hours—nor ever sigh
For what, by Providence, has been denied.
The sense of mutual cares, and toils, and hopes,
Our hearts shall knit, with an enduring tie
Promiscuous friendships never yet could boast;
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And
as we meet beside the Winter fire,
You shall dispense, from out your ample stores,
Instruction to your daughter; by whose smile
All that you’ve seen and read, shall be revived.
Thus I shall grow in knowledge, while you learn
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In turning
o’er the leaves of Mem’ry’s tome
To sweeten every bitter thought they yield,
By glad recurrence to the present joy.
Then
do not droop, my Father. [Page 141]
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