The sultry heats of summer's sun were o'er,
And ruddy orchards poured their ripened store;
Stripped of their leaves the cherry av'nues stood,
While sage October tinged the yellow wood,
Bestrewed with leaves and nuts the woodland path,
And roused the Katydida in chattering wrath;
The corn stood topped, their pumkins strewed the
ground,
And driving clouds of blackbirds wheeled around.
Far to the south our warblers had withdrawn;
Slow sailed the thistle-down along the lawn;
High on the hedge-rows, pendant over head,
The embow'ring vines their purple clusters spread,
The buckwheat flails re-echoed from the hill,
The creaking cider-press was busier still;
Red through the smoky air the wading sun
Sunk into fog ere half the day was done;
The air was mild, the roads embrowned and dry,
Soft, meek-eyed Indian summerb ruled the sky.
Such was the season when equipt we stood
On the green banks of Schuylkill's winding flood,
Bound on a tour wide northern forests through,
And bade our parting friends a short adieu.
Three cheerful partners, Duncan was the guide,
Young, gay and active, to the forest tried ;
A stick and knapsack all his little store,
With these, whole regions Duncan could explore;
Could trace the path to other eyes unseen,
Tell where the panther, deer, or bear had been,
The long dull day through swamp and forest roam,
Strike up his fire and find himself at home;
a A species of Gryllus very numerous and very noisy in the woods at that season.
b This expression is so well understood in the United States as hardly to require an explanation. Between the months of October and December there is usually a week or two of calm serene smoky weather, such as here described, which is universally denominated the Indian summer.
Untie his wallet, taste his frugal store,
And under shelbury bark profoundly snore.
And soon as morning cheered the forest scene;
Resume his knapsack and his path again.
Next Leech advanced, with youthful sails unfurled, Fresh on his maiden cruise to see the world; Red o'er his cheek the glow of health was spread, An oilskin covering glittered round his head; His light fuzee across his shoulder thrown, His neat-slung knapsack full and glistening shone; Though unknown regions wide before him lay, He scorned all fear while Wilson shared the way. He next appeared, with glittering arms supplied, A double gun, a deadly dirk beside,
A knapsack, crammed by Friendship's generous care,
With cakes and cordials, drams, and dainty fare;
Flasks filled with powder, leathern belts with shot;
Clothes, colours, paper, pencils-and what not.
With hope elate, and ardour in his eye,
He viewed the varying scenes approaching nigh,
Prepared and watchful (heedless of repose)
To catch the living manners as they rose;
Th' exploits, fatigues, and wonders to rehearse,
In no inglorious or enfeebled verse;
Nor scene nor character to bring to view
Save what fair Truth from living Nature drew.
Thus each equipt beneath his separate load,
We, fellow-pilgrims, gaily took the road.
A road immense; yet promised joys so dear,
That toils, and doubts, and dangers, disappear.
Behind us soon the lessening city flies,
New vallies sink and other hills arise,
Till through old Germantown we lightly trod,
That skirts for three long miles the narrow road,
And rising Chesnut-Hill around surveyed,
Wide woods below in vast extent displayed.
Studded with glittering farms; the distant view
Died into mingling clouds and mountains blue;
The road was good, the passing scenery gay,
Mile after mile passed unperceived away,
Till in the west the day began to close,
And Spring-house tavern furnished us repose.
Here two long rows of market folks were seen,
Ranged front to front, the table placed between,
Where bags of meat and bones, and crusts of bread,
And hunks of bacon all around were spread;
One pint of beer from lip to lip went round,
And scarce a crumb the hungry house-dog found;
Torrents of Dutch from every quarter came,
Pigs, calves, and saur-craut the important theme;
While we, on future plans revolving deep,
Discharged our bill and straight retired to sleep.
The morning star shone early on our bed,
Again our march the vigorous Duncan led.
The vault of heaven with constellations hung,
Their myriads twinkling as he cheerly sung,
Beguiling the lone hours. Thus half the day,
O'er hill and dale our stretching journey lay,
Through fertile Bucks, where lofty barns abound,
For wheat, fair Quakers, eggs, and fruit renowned;
Full fields, snug tenements, and fences neat,
Wide spreading walnuts drooping o'er each gate;
The spring-house peeping from enclustering trees,
Gay gardens filled with herbs, and roots and bees,
Where quinces, pears, and clustering grapes were
With ponderous calabashes hung between;
While orchards, loaded, bending o'er the grass,
Invite to taste and cheer us as we pass.
a The County of Bucks, in Pennsylvania, is a rich well cultivated tract of country, containing nearly half a million of acres, and upwards of 30,000 inhabitants.
But these too soon give place to prospects drear,
As o'er Northampton'sa barren heights we steer;
Bleak land of stones, deep swamps, and pigmy woods,
Where the poor Swabian o'er his drudgery broods;
Toils hard; and when the heats of harvest burn,
Gleans from the rocks his pittance in return.
Yet though so cursed his soil, his sheaves so few,
All-conquering Industry still bears him through;
Averse to change, pleased patiently to plod
The same dull round his honest father trod.
Behold his low roofed hut on yonder green,
There no gay front or proud piazza's seen;
Let wealthy fools their precious hoards disburse,
No whim can tempt him to untie his purse.
A moss-grown penthouse shades his narrow door,
One window joins with patches covered o'er;
Around the garden numerous hives are ranged,
And pendant gourds to fading yellow changed.
Sheds, smoke-house, hog pens, crowd the miry yard,
Where endless yells from growling pigs are heard.
Approach this humble hut; look in, nor fear;
Say, could Ambition find one comfort here?
Yet sweet Content e'en here is sometimes found,
Turning the wheel, or slumbering by its sound.
No mirrors dazzle, no rich beds appear,
Wide wasting Fashion never entered here.
Those plates of pewter, ranged along the frame,
In ancient days from distant Teuchland came.
That oaken table, so uncouth and low,
Stood where it stands some sixty years ago.
In this arm chair where Hans delights to snore,
His great grandfather nodded long before.
a Northampton is an oblong hilly county, adjoining that of Bucks. It is crossed nearly at right angles by that remarkable range of the Allegany known by the name of the Blue Ridge or Blue Mountain, which presents the appearance of an immense rampart, extending farther than the eye can reach, with an almost uniform height of summit.
Thus glows his greasy stove throughout the year,
The torrid zone for ever rages here.
Here, when the shades of weary evening fall,
Sits Hans, the lord and sovereign of all;
Das Neue Callendera from the nail unhooks,
His dark brows solemn and morose his looks;
Beside his lamp, with spectacles on nose,
To-morrow's weather seeks, its rains or snows,
The moon's eventful signs, th' auspicious hour
To plant the downward root or rising flower;
Of witch-confounding doctors tells the tale,
Sips his metheglin, or his cider stale.
All other joys for which he ever sighs
His dear loved saur-craut or his pipe supplies.
Abroad at toil ere yet the morning breaks,
Each rugged task his hardy frau partakes;
With brawny arms the struggling ploughshare guides,
Whips up her nags and o'er the furrow strides ;
Awakes the echoes with her clamorous tongue,
And lends e'en Hans a clout when things go wrong.
Sweeps round her head the loud resounding flail,
And sweats the sturdiest mower in the vale.
Light beat our hearts with changing prospects gay,
As down through Durham Vale we bend our way,
And pause, its furnace curious to explore,
Where flames and bellows lately wont to roar,
Now waste and roofless; as its walls we pass
The massive shells lie rusting in the grass!
There let them rust, fell messengers of death!
Till injured liberty be roused to wrath,
In whose right hand may they, though hosts oppose,
Be blasting thunderbolts to all her foes.
The setting sun was sinking in the west,
And brightly burnishing the mountain's breast,
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