Canadian farmers came oft to the little green cottage,
To see their new neighbors and hear them tell over their troubles.
The tales of their pilgrimage e'er to their hearers had new charms;
And instances, once told, cloyed not in repeating them over.
Thus it was that farmers, as rough as the oaks in their forests,
But open, and clever, and frank as the brooks in their meadows,
Came oft in the twilight and sat in the door of the cottage,
And said: 'We would hear of the land of the poor sable bondman.'
And forward they leant, and sat mute as they heard the dark stories
That sully the borw of America's proudest endeavors.
And regarding Leeona with pity, they sighed: 'Lord have mercy;'
As her words, soft and tender, fell on their great hearts with sweet pathos.
With wonder they look'd as they heard of the bayou and cane-brake;
Their breasts smote and murmured to hear of poor fugitive mothers
Chased down by fell bloodhounds, and dragged from the cypress swamps bleeding.
And their faces flamed red, and they plucked their long beard for resentment,
To hear of slave-holders who bought pure beauty and defiled it;
Blighting the hopes of the sweetest, the fairest, and youngest;
Adorning their harems with flowers all ruined but lovely!
And wringing from hoar age's heart submission to these vile abuses.
But they raised their broad hats, and shouted and stamped with boist'rous gladness,
To hear of Leeona escaping with Rodney her lover.
Thus it was that many an evening Rodney's friends came around him,
And far went the fame of the heroine of the savannas.
The same brave Rodney whose blows were too hard for the savage;
Whose feet were too swift, and whose arms were too strong for the bloodhound,
In his secret heart felt his whole life's fairest triumph
When he saw his Leeona the pride of all the great farmers.
Certain was he in his poverty and humble endeavors;
His little green cottage, tho' lowly, had its attractions -
Leeona, the womanly model of gentleness lived there.
Not young was she now, and radiant as she was aforetime,
Not thoughtlessly shy and blushing with reluctance so fawn-like,
Her arms were not smooth and round as they once were; her cheeks not so ruddy;
Her eyes were not so brilliant, and playful, and winning;
But softened by love, they beamed steadier and overcame more.
They were not the first stars that peep shyly thro' the whisp'ring twilight,
But the last sober-beaming ones that patiently linger
Above the familiar wood that watches the homes of our childhood.
She was not the bright light that once dazzled and charmed with its brilliance;
But settled and modest, the amiable light of the hearth-stone,
That draws all close about it, and sets all near hearts a chirping.
The wife of a good man, content to be his and to love him,
Ambitious to rival herself in his strong affections,
And ready always to lay hold with her hands and be happy.
A good wife was she, and loved all who loved her good husband;
And ever was ready to set him in the eyes of her friends
By kindness. Thus was she the idol of Rodney and his friends.
Not least among those who frequented the little green cottage
Was Father Eppinck, the good priest of the parish of Sussex.
A great and good man was he, and a true shepherd to all of his fold.
Were any by poverty shorn of the comforts of this life,
His mantle of care he threw around them, with love warmed.
Were the young gone astray in the dangerous wastes of transgression,
He followed their way, and returned with them prest to his bosom,
Were the old with woes pregnant, and burdened with great tribulations,
He led them, and gently pointed them to a more blessed future.
Thus it was that he came to the home of Leeona and Rodney,
With treasures of kind words. He called them his two loving children,
And always on leaving, he left them his best benediction.
He too loved Leeona, and came to hear of her pilgrimage.
'Twas a balmy afternoon in the joyous vale of the Sussex,
And the voices of Autumn were heard in all of the north land.
The fields were shorn of their harvests, and the golden sheaves were gathered in,
And stacked in the barn-yards. The mill complained in the valley,
The distant glen echoed and sang with the music of axes,
And the wain came down from the deep woods groaning beneath its logs.
The forests wore gay colors, but sighed and were melancholy.
Then Father Eppinck, as he sate in the door of the cottage,
Lifted up his eyes and beheld the fair vale of the Sussex.
He saw the sweet tokens of peace that appeared in the heavens;
And he heard the voice of contentment that went up from the earth beneath;
The sweet words of plenty he heard, and the loud shouts of strong health;
And then he raised his voice and said: 'O my God, I bless Thee!
For the rolling seasons and the full year, I magnify thee!
I thank thee for the hills and the high rock, and the great forests.
I thank thee for the pleasant valleys and their full fields of grain,
For their flowing streams, and the burdened orchards on their green banks.
I thank thee for plenty, for health, and for homes; but, oh my God!
I extol thee for freedom, the hope of the church of the Savior.
Here peace spreads her white wings, and sun never looks on a bondman.
Here earth yields her increase, and no slave's sweat ever falls upon it.
Oh God I bless thee for Canada and the Crown of England!'
When Father Eppinck had finished this saying, with kind words
He turned to Leeona and Rodney and said: 'Now I leave you.
I go up to Montreal by the first coach to-morrow.
If the morning be fair, I hope to be off before cock crow.
A month shall I be gone, and now that the Autumn is far spent,
My coming to Sussex again will be in the Winter.
What time I am in Montreal, I will be in the house of a merchant,
A good man, whose wealth has kept pace with his increasing goodness;
A Christian, whose devotion to Christ and his holy Apostles
In alms deeds is shown. Samaritan-like he goes forward
Into the highways of this life, and gathers up the wounded
Spirit, and bears him in the arms of his wealth to the inn of comfort;
And when nakedness cries in the street, he hears her, and lends her help,
And asks not; 'But why are you naked? Why did you not save in harvest?'
And his lovely wife, the center of Montreal circles,
A brave hearted, noble, merciful and fair life consort,
Throws around him the arms of encouragement in all his good deeds.
She is happiest always among those that her hands have made happy.
Her heart is a fountain of kind words, and like Aquila of old,
She delights in the church of God, in Christ and his holy Apostles.
Her accomplishments drag after her a train of admirers;
Her beauty a train of worshippers, her charity a host
Of grateful lovers; while her affectionate fidelity
Lights up her home so that her husband says: 'A star is Dora.''
Now Rodney hung his head when this last word, Dora, fell on his ears;
And as he bade Father Eppinck adieu, he looked up and sighed;
And the light of recollections flashed across his manly face
Like a burst of sun that thro' white clouds lights waving harvests.