Part 8 (2/2)
Sometime I may need it so, Groping somewhere in the night, It will seem to me as though Just a touch, however light, Would make all the darkness day, And along some sunny way Lead me through an April-shower Of my tears to this fair hour.
O the present is too sweet To go on forever thus!
Round the corner of the street Who can say what waits for us?-- Meeting--greeting, night and day, Faring each the selfsame way-- Still somewhere the path must end.-- Reach your hand to me, my friend!
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TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN
Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me, Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity, You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart, Which was like a healin' 'intment to the sorrow of my hart.
When I burried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you Had the only consolation that I could listen to-- Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the blow, And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to know.
But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and thare-- Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open air-- And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a frozen glare, And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin' ev'rywhare.
I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away; I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and gray; And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clickt the icy hours in two-- And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you!
We set thare by the smoke-house--me and you out thare alone-- Me a-thinkin'--you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone-- You a-talkin'--me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago, And a-writin' ”Marthy--Marthy” with my finger in the snow!
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William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could then; And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again, And I see the tears a-drippin' from your own eyes, as you say: ”Be rickonciled and bear it--we but linger fer a day!”
At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me-- Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be; And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here, In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer.
It was better than the meetin', too, that nine-mile talk we had Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so bad; When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on ”Shanks's mare,”
And ”blaze” a road fer them behind that had to travel thare.
And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike, In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like-- Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind, A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind!
And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight:-- Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had the fight With the old stag-deer that p.r.o.nged him--how he battled fer his life, And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife.
Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and we Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three-- When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way, And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day.
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Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the ”Travelers' Rest,”
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