Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.
Chalkley Hall
By John Greenleaf Whittier (18071892)H
To him who flies
From crowded street and red wall’s weary gleam,
Till far behind him like a hideous dream
The close dark city lies!
The marble floor
Of Mammon’s altar, from the crush and din
Of the world’s madness let me gather in
My better thoughts once more.
The cry of Gain
And low hoarse hum of Traffic die away,
Ye blessed memories of my early day
Like sere grass wet with rain!—
Old feelings waken;
Through weary years of toil and strife and ill,
Oh, let me feel that my good angel still
Hath not his trust forsaken.
Beneath the arms
Of this embracing wood, a good man made
His home, like Abraham resting in the shade
Of Mamre’s lonely palms.
The virgin soil
Turned from the share he guided, and in rain
And summer sunshine throve the fruits and grain
Which blessed his honest toil.
Weary and worn,
He came to meet his children and to bless
The Giver of all good in thankfulness
And praise for his return.
Their friend again,
Safe from the wave and the destroying gales,
Which reap untimely green Bermuda’s vales,
And vex the Carib main.
Oh, far away beneath New England’s sky,
Even when a boy,
Following my plough by Merrimac’s green shore,
His simple record I have pondered o’er
With deep and quiet joy.
Its woods around,
Its still stream winding on in light and shade,
Its soft green meadows and its upland glade,—
To me is holy ground.