Classic Poem

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
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.
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
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,)
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.

From morn till eve shall Agnes at your side
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
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,
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;
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
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.

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
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.
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
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,)
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.

From morn till eve shall Agnes at your side
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
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,
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;
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
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.