Yet hold! I'm rich; -with one consent they'll

say,

"You're welcome, uncle, as the flowers in May."
No; I'll disguise me, be in tatters dressed,
And best befriend the lads who treat me best.'
Now all his kindred, neither rich nor poor,
Kept the wolf Want some distance from the door.
In piteous plight he knocked at George's gate,
And begged for aid, as he described his state.
But stern was George:Let them who had thee
strong

Help thee to drag thy weakened frame along :
To us a stranger while your limbs would move;
From us depart, and try a stranger's love: —
Ha! dost thou murmur?'-for in Roger's throat
Was Rascal!' rising, with disdainful note.

To pious James he then his prayer addressed. 'Good lack,' quoth James, thy sorrows pierce my breast;

And had I wealth, as have my brethren twain,
One board should feed us, and one roof contain:
But plead I will thy cause, and I will pray :
And so, farewell! Heaven help thee on thy way!'
'Scoundrel!' said Roger (but apart), and told
His case to Peter; Peter too was cold :-

The rates are high; we have a-many poor;
But I will think he said, and shut the door.

Then the gay niece the seeming pauper pressed : Turn, Nancy, turn, and view this form distressed; Akin to thine is this declining frame,

6

And this poor beggar claims an uncle's name.'
Avaunt! begone!' the courteous maiden said,
Thou vile impostor! Uncle Roger's dead;
I hate thee, beast! thy look my spirit shocks ;
O! that I saw thee starving in the stocks!

'My gentle niece!' he said, and sought the wood. 'I hunger, fellow! prithee, give me food!'

'Give! am I rich? this hatchet take and try Thy proper strength, nor give those limbs the lie ; Work, feed thyself, to thine own powers appeal, Nor whine out woes thine own right hand can heal; And while that hand is thine, and thine a leg, Scorn of the proud or of the base to beg.'

HIS REVENGE.

'Come, Surly John, thy wealthy kinsman view,' Old Roger said; thy words are brave and true. Come, live with me; we 'll vex those scoundrel boys; And that prim shrew shall, envying, hear our joys. Tobacco's glorious fume all day we'll share, With beef and brandy kill all kinds of care; We'll beer and biscuit on our table heap, And rail at rascals till we fall asleep.'

Such was their life: but when the woodman died,

His grieving kin for Roger's smiles applied;
In vain he shut with stern rebuke the door,
And, dying, built a refuge for the poor;

With this restriction: That no Cuff should share
One meal or shelter for one moment there.

THE SEXTON.

My record ends :- but, hark! ev'n now I hear The bell of death, and know not whose to fear : Our farmers all, and all our hinds, were well; In no man's cottage danger seemed to dwell : Yet death of man proclaim these heavy chimes, For thrice they sound, with pausing space three 'Go, of my sexton seek whose days are sped.' [times. 'What! he himself!- and is old Dibble dead?' His eightieth year he reached, still undecayed, And rectors five to one close vault conveyed : But he is gone; his care and skill I lose, And gain a mournful subject for my muse: His masters lost he'd oft in turn deplore, And kindly add, 'Heaven grant I lose no more!' Yet while he spake a sly and pleasant glance Appeared at variance with his complaisance : For, as he told their fate and varying worth, He archly looked, 'I yet may bear thee forth.'

PARSON ADDLE.

'When first' (he so began) 'my trade I plied, Good master Addle was the parish guide; His clerk and sexton I beheld with fear, His stride majestic, and his frown severe; A nobler pillar of the church he stood, Adorned with college gown and parish hood; Then, as he paced the hallowed aisles about, He filled the seven-fold surplice fairly out: But in his pulpit, wearied down with prayer, He sat, and seemed as in his study's chair; For while the anthem swelled, and when it ceased, The expecting people viewed their slumbering priest; Who, dozing, died.

PARSON PEELE.

'Our parson Peele was next; "I will not spare you," was his favorite text: Nor did he spare, but raised them inany a pound; Ev'n me he mulct for my poor rood of ground; Yet cared he naught, but, with a gibing speech, "What should I do," quoth he, " but what I preach?" His piercing jokes (and he'd a plenteous store) Were daily offered both to rich and poor;

His scorn, his love, in playful words he spoke ;
His pity, praise, and promise, were a joke :
But though so young, and blest with spirits high,
He died as grave as any judge could die :
The strong attack subdued his lively powers,
His was the grave, and Doctor Grandspear ours.

PARSON GRANDSPEAR.

How does my sexton? What! the times are hard;
Drive that stout pig and pen him in thy yard."
But most his reverence loved a mirthful jest:

'Thy coat is thin; why, man, thou 'rt barely drest;
It's worn to the thread! but I have nappy beer;
Clap that within, and see how they will wear." [past:
'Gay days were these: but they were quickly
When first he came we found he could n't last :
An whoreson cough (and at the fall of leaf)
Upset him quite :- -but what's the gain of grief?

THE BOOKISH PARSON.

Then came the Author Rector; his delight Was all in books; to read them or to write : Women and men he strove alike to shun, And hurried homeward when his tasks were done; Courteous enough, but careless what he said, For points of learning he reserved his head; And when addressing either poor or rich, He knew no better than his cassock which; He, like an osier, was of pliant kind, Erect by nature, but to bend inclined; Not like a creeper falling to the ground, Or meanly catching on the neighbors round; Careless was he of surplice, hood, and band, And kindly took them as they came to hand; Nor, like the doctor, wore a world of hat, As if he sought for dignity in that: He talked, he gave, but not with cautious rules, Nor turned from gypsies, vagabonds, or fools; It was his nature, but they thought it whim, And so our beaux and beauties turned from him : Of questions much he wrote, profound and dark, How spake the serpent, and where stopped the ark; From what far land the Queen of Sheba came; Who Salem's priest, and what his father's name; He made the Song of Songs its mysteries yield, And Revelations to the world revealed. He sleeps i' the aisle; but not a stone records His name or fame, his actions or his words :And truth, your reverence, when I look around, And mark the tombs in our sepulchral ground (Though dare I not of one man's hope to doubt), I'd join the party who repose without.

At times he smiled in scorn, at times he wept, And such sad coil with words of vengeance kept, That our best sleepers started as they slept.

"Conviction comes like lightning," he would cry; "In vain you seek it, and in vain you fly; "Tis like the rushing of the mighty wind, Unseen its progress, but its power you find ; It strikes the child ere yet its reason wakes; His reason fled, the ancient sire it shakes; The proud learned man, and him who loves to know How and from whence these gusts of will blow, grace It shuns but sinners in their way impedes, And sots and harlots visits in their deeds: Of faith and penance it supplies the place; Assures the vilest that they live by grace, And, without running, makes them win the race." 'Such was the doctrine our young prophet taught; And here conviction, there confusion wrought: When his thin cheek assumed a deadly hue, And all the rose to one small spot withdrew : They called it hectic; 't was a fiery flush, More fixed and deeper than the maiden blush ; His paler lips the pearly teeth disclosed, And laboring lungs the lengthening speech opposed. No more his span-girth shanks and quivering thighs Upheld a body of the smaller size;

But down he sank upon his dying bed,

666

And gloomy crotchets filled his wandering head.
'Spite of my faith, all-saving faith," he cried,
"I fear of worldly works the wicked pride;
Poor as I am, degraded, abject, blind,
The good I've wrought still rankles in my mind;
My alms-deeds all, and every deed I've done,
My moral rags defile me every one;

It should not be what say'st thou? tell me, Ralph."
Quoth I, "Your reverence, I believe you 're safe;
Your faith's your prop, nor have you passed such
In life's good works as swell them to a crime." [time
"If I of pardon for my sins were sure,
About my goodness I would rest secure."

CONCLUSION OF THE REGISTER.

Yes! he is gone and we are going all ;
Like flowers we wither, and like leaves we fall :
Here with an infant joyful sponsors come,
Then bear the new-made Christian to its home:
A few short years, and we behold him stand
To ask a blessing, with his bride in hand:
A few, still seeming shorter, and we hear
His widow weeping at her husband's bier :-
Thus, as the months succeed, shall infants take
Their names, while parents them and us forsake ;
Thus brides again and bridegrooms blithe shall
kneel,

By love or law compelled their vows to seal,
Ere I again, or one like me, explore
These simple annals of the VILLAGE POOR.

FIRST OF DECEMBER.

THOUGH now no more the musing ear
Delights to listen to the breeze
That lingers o'er the green-wood shade,
I love thee, Winter, well.

Sweet are the harmonies of Spring,
Sweet is the Summer's evening gale,
Pleasant th' autumnal winds that shake
The many-colored grove;

And pleasant to the sober soul
The silence of the wintry scene,
When Nature shrouds her in her trance
In deep tranquillity.

Not undelightful now to roam,

The wild heath sparkling on the sight; Not undelightful now to pace

The forest's ample round;

And see the spangled branches shine, And mark the moss of many a hue That varies the old tree's brown bark, Or o'er the gray stone spreads.

The clustered berries claim the eye
O'er the bright holly's gay green leaves;
The ivy round the leafless oak

Clasps its full foliage close.

So Virtue, difficult of strength, Clings to Religion's firmer aid, And, by Religion's aid upheld, Endures calamity.

Nor void of beauties now the Spring, Whose waters, hid from Summer's sun, Have soothed the thirsty pilgrim's ear With more than melody.

The green moss shines with icy glare; The long grass bends in spear-like form ; And lovely is the silvery scene

When faint the sunbeams smile.

Reflection too may love the hour When Nature, hid in Winter's grave, No more expands the bursting bud, Or bids the flow'ret bloom.

For Nature soon in Spring's best charms
Shall rise, revived from Winter's grave,
Again expand the bursting bud,
And bid the flow'ret bloom.

READ'S "STRANGER ON THE DOOR-SILL;"
OR, THE "ALIENATED HOMESTEAD."
BETWEEN broad fields of wheat and corn
Is the lowly home where I was born;
The peach-tree leans against the wall,
And the woodbine wanders over all;
There is the shaded doorway still —
But a stranger's foot has crossed the sill.
There is the barn, and, as of yore,

I can smell the hay from the open door,
And see the busy swallows throng,
And hear the peewee's mournful song;
But the stranger comes- -O! painful proof—
His sheaves are piled to the heated roof.
There is the orchard, the very trees,
Where my childhood knew long hours of ease,
And watched the shadowy moments run,
Till my life imbibed more shade than sun;
The swing from the bough still sweeps the air-
But the stranger's children are swinging there.
It bubbles, the shady spring below,
With its bulrush brook, where the hazels grow;
'T was there I found the calamus root,
And watched the minnows poise and shoot,
And heard the robin lave his wing-
But the stranger's bucket is at the spring.

O ye who daily cross the sill,
Step lightly, for I love it still!
And when you crowd the old barn-eaves,
Then think what countless harvest-sheaves
Have passed within that scented door,
To gladden eyes that are no more.
Deal kindly with these orchard trees,
And when your children crowd your knees,
Their sweetest fruit they shall impart,
As if old memories stirred their heart;
To youthful sport still leave the swing,
And in sweet reverence hold the spring.

1 The sweet-flag, or flag-root.

BOOK I.

ARGUMENT.

Subject proposed. Invocation and address. What soils the cane grows best in. The gray light earth. Praise of Jamaica, and of Christopher Columbus. The black soil mixed with clay and gravel. Praise of Barbadoes, Nevis, and Mountserrat. Composts may improve other soils. Advantages and disadvantages of a level plantation. Of a mountain estate. Of a midland one. Advantages of proper cultivation. Of fallowing. Of compost. Of leaving the Woura, and penning cattle on the distant cane-pieces. Whether yams improve the soil. Whether dung should be buried in each hole, or scattered over the piece. Canelands may be holed at any time. The ridges should be open to the trade-wind. The beauty of holding regularly by a line. Alternate holing, and the wheel-plough, recommended to trial. When to plant. Wet weather the best. Rain often falls in the West Indies almost without any previous signs. The signs of rainy weather. Of fogs round the high mountains. Planting described. Begin to plant mountain-land in July; the low ground in November, and the subsequent months, till May. The advantage of changing tops in planting. Whether the moon has any influence over the cane-plant. What quantity of mountain and of low cane-land may be annually planted. The last cane-piece should be cut off before the end of July. Of hedges. Of stone enclosures. Myrtle hedges recommended. Whether trees breed the blast. The character of a good planter. Of weeding. Of moulding. Of stripping.

THE SUBJECT STATED. SUGAR-CANE CULTURE.

WHAT soil the cane affects; what care demands;
Beneath what signs to plant; what ills await;
How the hot nectar best to crystallize,
And Afric's sable progeny to treat :

A Muse, that long hath wandered in the groves
Of myrtle-indolence, attempts to sing.

INVOCATION. HESIOD, VIRGIL, DYER, PHILIPS, SMART, SOMERVILLE.

Spirit of inspiration, that didst lead Th' Ascrean poet to the sacred mount, And taught'st him all the precepts of the swain, Descend from heaven, and guide my trembling steps To Fame's eternal dome, where Maro reigns; Where pastoral Dyer, where Pomona's bard, And Smart and Somerville, in varying strains, Their sylvan lore convey: O may I join This choral band, and from their precepts learn To deck my theme, which, though to song unknown, Is most momentous to my country's weal!

DEDICATION TO THE GOVERNOR OF THE LEEWARD ISLANDS. 1

So shall my numbers win the public ear; And not displease Aurelius; him, to whom Imperial George, the monarch of the main,

1 The 'Leeward Isles' are the northern portion of the Caribbee Islands, that is, those north of latitude 150; the Caribbee Islands south of 150 are called the Windward Isles.'

Hath given to wield the sceptre of those isles, Where first the Muse beheld the spiry cane, Supreme of plants, rich subject of my song.

BEST SOIL FOR THE CANE. CLEARING.

Where'er the clouds relent in frequent rains, And the sun fiercely darts his tropic beam, The cane will joint, ungenial though the soil. But wouldst thou see huge casks, in order due, Rolled numerous on the bay, all fully fraught With strong-grained Muscovado, silvery-gray, Joy of the planter; and if happy Fate Permit a choice; avoid the rocky slope, The clay-cold bottom, and the sandy beach. But let thy biting axe, with ceaseless stroke, The wild red cedar, the tough locust, fell; Nor let his nectar, nor his silken pods, The sweet-smelled cassia or vast ceiba save.

GUAVA, GUAIAC, SHADDOC, ACAJOU, SABBACA.

Yet spare the guava, yet the guaiac spare; A wholesome food the ripened guava yields, Boast of the housewife; while the guaiac grows A sovereign antidote, in wood, bark, gum, To cause the lame his useless crutch forego, And dry the sources of corrupted love. Nor let thy bright impatient flames destroy The golden shaddoc, the forbidden fruit, The white acajou, and rich sabbaca :

THE LIGHT-GRAY SOIL BEST.

For, where these trees their leafy banners raise
Aloft in air, a gray deep earth abounds,
Fat, light; yet, when it feels the wounding hoe,
Rising in clods, which ripening suns and rain
Resolve to crumbles, yet not pulverize :

In this the soul of vegetation wakes,
Pleased at the planter's call, to burst on day.
Thrice happy he, to whom such fields are given !
For him the cane with little labor grows;
Spite of the dog-star, shoots long yellow joints;
Concocts rich juice, though deluges descend.
What if an after-offspring it reject?
This land, for many a crop, will feed his mills;
Disdain supplies, nor ask from compost aid.

[court,

Columbus, boast of science, boast of man!
Yet, by the great, the learned, and the wise,
Long held a visionary; who, like thee,
Could brook their scorn; wait seven long years at
A selfish, sullen, dilatory court ;
Yet never from thy purposed plan decline?
No god, no hero of poetic times,

In Truth's fair annals, may compare with thee!
Each passion, weakness of mankind, thou knew'st,
Thine own concealing; firmest base of power:
Rich in expedients; what most adverse seemed,
And least expected, most advanced thine aim.
What storms, what monsters, what new forms of
In a vast ocean, never cut by keel,
And where the magnet first its aid declined,
Alone, unterrified, didst thou not view?

[death,

To whom thou gav'st the sceptre of that world.
Yet, blessed spirit, where enthroned thou sit'st,
Chief 'mid the friends of man, repine not thou ·
Dear to the Nine, thy glory shall remain
While winged Commerce either ocean ploughs;
While its loved pole the magnet coyly shuns;
While weeps the guaiac, and while joints the cane.

THE DARK SOILS FOR CANE. THAT OF BARBADOES, NEVIS, AND MONTSERRAT.

Shall the Muse celebrate the dark deep mould, With clay or gravel mixed?—This soil the cane, With partial fondness, loves; and oft surveys Its progeny with wonder. -Such rich veins Are plenteous scattered o'er the Sugar-isles: But chief that land, to which the bearded fig, Prince of the forest, gave Barbadoes name; Chief Nevis, justly for its hot baths famed : And breezy Mountserrat, whose wondrous springs Change, like Medusa's head, whate'er they touch, To stony hardness; boast this fertile glebe.

HOW OTHER SOILS MAY BE USEFULLY IMPROVED; IRRIGATION; COMPOSTING.

Though such the soils the Antillean cane
Supremely loves, yet other soils abound,
Which Art may tutor to obtain its smile.
Say, shall the experienced Muse that Art recite ?
How sand will fertilize stiff barren clay?
How clay unites the light, the porous mould,
Sport of each breeze? And how the torpid nymph
Of the rank pool, so noisome to the smell,
May be solicited, by wily ways,

To draw her humid train, and, prattling, run
Down the reviving slopes? Or shall she say
What glebes ungrateful to each other art,
Their genial treasures ope to fire alone?
Record the different composts; which the cold
To plastic gladness warm? The torrid, which
By soothing coolness win? The sharp saline,
Which best subdue? Which mollify the sour?

LOW LEVELS; THEIR DISADVANTAGES. — CHARACTER OF THEIR SUGARS.

To thee, if Fate low level land assign, Slightly cohering, and of sable hue, Far from the hill; be parsimony thine, For though this year when constant showers descend; The speeding gale, thy sturdy numerous stock, Scarcely suffice to grind thy mighty canes : Yet thou, with rueful eye, for many a year, Shall view thy plants burnt by the torch of day; Hear their parched wan blades rustle in the air; While their black sugars, doughy to the feel, Will not ev'n pay the labor of thy swains.

DISADVANTAGES OF MOUNTAIN LAND; CHARACTER OF THEIR
SUGARS; LAND-SLIDES.

Or, if the mountain be thy happier lot,
Let prudent foresight still thy coffers guard.
For though the clouds relent in nightly rain,
Though thy rank canes wave lofty in the gale :