Francis Ball's Descendants: Or, The West Springfield Ball Family, from 1640 to 1902

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Press of J. J. Wheeler, 1902 - Reference - 80 pages

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Page 80 - Stream of my sleeping fathers ! when the sound Of coming war echoed thy hills around, How did thy sons start forth from every glade, Snatching the musket where they left the spade. How did their mothers urge them to the fight, Their sisters tell them to defend the right : — How bravely did they stand, how nobly fall — The earth their coffin, and the turf their pall ; How did the aged pastor light his eye, When, to his flock, he read the purpose high And stern resolve, whate'er the toil may be,...
Page 77 - Here his young squaw her cradling tree would choose, Singing her chant to hush her swart pappoose ; Here stain her quills and string her trinkets rude, And weave her warrior's wampum in the wood. No more shall they thy welcome waters bless ; No more their forms thy moon-lit banks shall press ; No more be heard, from mountain or from grove, His whoop of slaughter, or her song of love.
Page 77 - Dark as the frost-nipped leaves that strewed the ground, The Indian hunter here his shelter found ; Here cut his bow and shaped his arrows true, Here built his wigwam and his bark canoe, Speared the quick salmon leaping up the fall, And slew the deer without the rifle-ball.
Page 78 - Here cities rise, and sea-washed commerce hails Thy shores and winds with all her flapping sails, From Tropic isles, or from the torrid main — Where grows the. grape, or sprouts the sugar-cane — Or from the haunts, where the striped haddock play, By each cold northern bank and frozen bay. Here, safe returned from every stormy sea, Waves the striped flag, the mantle of the free — That star-lit flag, by all the breezes curled Of yon vast deep whose waters grasp the world. i POETS OF CONNECTICUT....
Page 76 - From that lone lake, the sweetest of the chain, That links the mountain to the mighty main, Fresh from the rock and swelling by the tree, Rushing to meet, and dare, and breast the sea — Fair, noble, glorious river! in thy wave The sunniest slopes and sweetest pastures lave...
Page 79 - Drink the hale Farmer's cider, as he hears From the gray dame the tales of other years. Cracking his shag-barks, as the aged crone —Mixing the true and doubtful into one — Tells how the Indian scalped the helpless child, And bore its shrieking mother to the wild, Butchered the father hastening to his home, Seeking his cottage — finding but his tomb. How drums, and flags, and troops were seen on high, Wheeling and charging in the northern sky.
Page 76 - The clouds above, or the unfathomed deep, The purest breezes scent thy blooming hills, The gentlest dews drop on thy eddying rills, By the mossed bank, and by the aged tree, The silver streamlet smoothest glides to thee. The young oak greets thee at the water's edge, Wet by the wave, though anchored in the ledge.
Page 79 - Butchered the father hastening to his home, Seeking his cottage finding but his tomb. How drums and flags and troops were seen on high Wheeling and charging in the northern sky, And that she knew what these wild tokens meant, When to the Old French War her husband went. How by the thunder-blasted tree, was hid The golden spoils of...
Page 80 - That haunted the old swamp. The clock strikes ten — The prayer is said, nor unforgotten then The stranger in their gates. A decent rule Of Elders in thy puritanic school. When the fresh morning wakes him from his dream, And daylight smiles on rock, and slope, and stream, Are there not glossy curls and sunny eyes, As brightly lit and bluer than thy skies; Voices as gentle as an echoed call, And sweeter than the softened waterfall That smiles and dimples in its whispering spray, Leaping in sportive...
Page 77 - Tis there the otter dives, the beaver feeds, Where pensive osiers dip their willowy weeds, And there the wild-cat purs amid her brood, And trains them, in the sylvan solitude, To watch the squirrel's leap, or mark the mink Paddling the water by the quiet brink ; Or to outgaze the gray owl in the dark, Or hear the young fox practising to bark.

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