A Maine Trail 1633 A MAINE TRAIL COME follow, heart upon your sleeve, Past tasseled corn and fresh-mown hay, Oh come, let's fare to the heart-o'-the-wood Strike in by the gnarled way through the swamp Where late the laurel shone, An intimate close where you meet yourself And come unto your own, By bouldered brook to the hidden spring And swift birds break the silence as Stout-hearted thrust through gold-green copse To garner the woodland glee, To weave a garment of warm delight, Of sunspun ecstasy; 'Twill shield you all winter from frosty eyes, "Twill shield your heart from cold; Such greens!-how the Lord Himself loves green! Then on till flaming fireweed Is quenched in forest deep; Tread soft! The sumptuous paven moss Oh come, the welcoming trees lead on, Shy violets smile, proud branches bow, The silence is a courtesy, The well-bred calm of kings; Gertrude Huntington McGiffert [18 AFOOT COMES the lure of green things growing, Moves and wakes and would be going. Hark the migrant hosts of June Long the quest and far the ending In his ears the phantom chime Of incommunicable rhyme, He shall chase the fleeting camp-fires Of the Bedouins of Time. Farer by uncharted ways, Dumb as death to plaint or praise, Unreturning he shall journey, Fellow to the nights and days; Till upon the outer bar Stilled the moaning currents are, Till the flame achieves the zenith, Till the moth attains the star, Till through laughter and through tears Fair the final peace appears, And about the watered pastures Sink to sleep the nomad years! Charles G. D. Roberts [1860 1635 From Romany to Rome FROM ROMANY TO ROME UPON the road to Romany It's stay, friend, stay! There's lots o' love and lots o' time To linger on the way; Poppies for the twilight, Roses for the noon, It's happy goes as lucky goes To Romany in June. But on the road to Rome-oh, The dust is on the chariot wheels, The sere is on the larch, Helmets and javelins And bridles flecked with foam The flowers are dead, the world's ahead But on the road to Rome-ah, Treading left and right, Ruddying the gloam The fields are gray and worn away Upon the road to Romany It's sing, boys, sing! Though rag and pack be on our back Wine is in the sunshine, Madness in the moon, And de'il may care the road we fare To Romany in June. Along the road to Rome, alas! The glorious dust is whirled, Strong hearts are fierce to see The City of the World; Yet footfall or bugle-call Upon the road to Romany The birds are calling still! Wallace Irwin [1875– THE TOIL OF THE TRAIL WHAT have I gained by the toil of the trail? I have found once again the lore I had lost I have broadened my hand to the cinch and the axe, I have laid my flesh to the rain; I was hunter and trailer and guide; I have touched the most primitive wildness again. I have threaded the wild with the stealth of the deer, No eagle is freer than I; No mountain can thwart me, no torrent appall, So long as I live these joys will remain, I have touched the most primitive wildness again. Hamlin Garland [1860 DO YOU FEAR THE WIND? Do you fear the force of the wind, The slash of the rain? Go face them and fight them, Be savage again. Go hungry and cold like the wolf, Go wade like the crane: The palms of your hands will thicken, The skin of your cheek will tan, You'll grow ragged and weary and swarthy, But you'll walk like a man! Hamlin Garland [1860 The King's Highway 1637 THE KING'S HIGHWAY "El Camino Real" ALL in the golden weather, forth let us ride to-day, The blue skies above us, and below the shining sea; It's a long road and sunny, and the fairest in the world— There are peaks that rise above it in their snowy mantles curled, And it leads from the mountains through a hedge of chap arral, Down to the waters where the sea gulls call. It's a long road and sunny, it's a long road and old, They made it for the sandals of the sinner-folk of old; We will take the road together through the morning's golden glow, And we'll dream of those who trod it in the mellowed long ago; We will stop at the Missions where the sleeping padres lay, And we'll bend a knee above them for their souls' sake to pray. We'll ride through the valleys where the blossom's on the tree, Through the orchards and the meadows with the bird and the bee, And we'll take the rising hills where the manzanitas grow, |