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52       MRS. LITTLE.

Much more he spake, with growing ardour fired
  Oh! that my lay were worthy to record
The moving eloquence his theme inspired!
  For, like a free and copious stream, out-poured
  His love to man, and man's indulgent Lord.
All were subdued; the stoutest, sternest men,
  Heart-melted, hung on every precious word:
And as he uttered forth his full amen,
A thousand mingling sobs re-echoed it again.

Behold that ancient house on yonder lawn,
  Close by whose rustic porch an elm is seen:
Lo! now has past the service of the morn
  A joyous group are hastening o'er the green,
  Led by an aged sire of gracious mien,
Whose gay descendants are all met, to hold
  Their glad thanksgiving, in that sylvan scene,
That once enclosed them in one happy fold,
Ere waves of time and change had o'er them roll'd.

The hospitable doors are open thrown;
  The bright wood-fire burns cheerly in the hall;
And, gathering in, a busy hum makes known
  The spirit of free mirth that moves them all.
  There, a youth hears a lovely cousin's call,
And flies alertly to unclasp the cloak;
  And she, the while, with merry laugh lets fall
Upon his awkwardness some lively joke,
Not pitying the blush her bantering has woke. 

And there the grandam sits, in placid ease,
  A gentle brightness o'er her features spread;
Her children's children cluster round her knees,
  Or on her bosom fondly rest their head.
  Oh! happy sight, to see such blossoms shed


MRS. LITTLE.       53

Their sweet young fragrance o'er such aged tree!
  How vain to say, that, when short youth has fled,
Our dearest of enjoyments cease to be;
When hoary eld is loved but the more tenderly. 

And there the manly farmers scan the news;
  (Strong is their sense, though plain the garb it wears;)
Or, while their pipes a lulling smoke diffuse,
  They look important from their elbow-chairs,
  And gravely ponder on the nation's cares.
The matrons of the morning sermon speak,
  And each its passing excellence declares;
While tears of pious rapture, pure and meek,
Course in soft beauty down the Christian mother's cheek

Then, just at one, the full thanksgiving feast,
  Rich with the bounties of the closing year,
Is spread; and, from the greatest to the least,
  All crowd the table, and enjoy the cheer.
  The list of dainties will not now appear;
Save one I cannot pass unheeded by,
  One dish, already to the muses dear,
One dish, that wakens memory's longing sigh—
The genuine, far-famed, Yankee pumpkin pie!

Who e'er has seen thee in thy flaky crust
  Display the yellow richness of thy breast,
But, as the sight awoke his keenest gust,
  Has own'd thee, of all cates the choicest, best?
Ambrosia were a fool, to thee compared,
  E'en by the ruby hand of Hebe drest;
Thee, pumpkin pie, by country maids prepared,
With their white rounded arms above the elbow bared.

Now to the kitchen come a vagrant train,
  The plenteous fragments of the feast to share.
The old lame fiddler wakes a merry strain,
  For his mull'd cider and his pleasant fare,
5*

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-26 20:54:17 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 13:21:28 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 15:59:12