Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LONG TRAIL: THE PIONEERS, by ELIZABETH SEWELL HILL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LONG TRAIL: THE PIONEERS, by                    
First Line: Thro' the breaking wood
Last Line: With its call to new days.
Subject(s): Pioneers; Roads; Paths; Trails


Thro' the breaking wood
The road crawls slow to the clearing's rood.
The roof-tree bends by the forest spring
While the axes glance and the rifles ring.
The garden smiles and the posies blow
Down prim straight paths, turf-set, that go
Thro' the brave new pickets' low cloistering
Out to wood-paths shyly adventuring;
Or to the stile's loud hail while the swift surprise
Leaps with the welcome to tear-dim eyes
And eager glad hands—for folks have come!
Clatter of kettles; the laugh and hum
Of news and views; and the hollow throat
Of the chimney roars to a glad new note.
The table calls to thicket and hive,
To rafter and shelf. So the glad tongues give
To the hushed afternoon. To the further field
The idle feet move; the proper yield
Duly apportioned, these silent men
Retrace to the sheds, the barns; and then
Quiet feet turn to the sheltered lane
That leads to the churchyard. The shadows strain
Down the breaking road. The sunlight falls
On headstones guarding the years' recall,
And the wild-rose blows in the scented air
With the bending, lifting grasses there
Warm, soft and sweet.—Ah, the years are long
Since they went away!
But sure and strong
The new years beckon. It is haste and good-bye;
Hand and hand, heart to heart, lip and lip, eye and eye,
And the folks are gone.
But the forest spring
Answers gay voices re-echoing
Where the children call, while book and pail
Speak of spent sessions—a hungry hail
Sounds at the doorway. It is water and wood,
The feeding, the milking, for litter and brood
Sure care and protection. The low roof bends
Above the home-circle; the steaming food sends
Its call thro' the evening, the perfume, the dew,
To shadows at twilight—grey shapes stealing thro'
Forest deeps, with the collie at bay. Timbered bars
Drop into strong sockets; evening prayers; and the stars
Drift above—thro' the years resting not, swinging on;
Evenings' rest, midnights' dreams, daybreak, and the dawn
With its call to new days.





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