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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420474" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Cobbler Keezar's Vision</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The beaver cut his timber<br>With patient teeth that day,<br>The minks were fish-wards, and the crows<br>Surveyors of highway,-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Keezar sat on the hillside<br>Upon his cobbler's form,<br>With a pan of coals on either hand<br>To keep his waxed-ends warm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there, in the golden weather,<br>He stitched and hammered and sung;<br>In the brook he moistened his leather,<br>In the pewter mug his tongue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well knew the tough old Teuton<br>Who brewed the stoutest ale,<br>And he paid the goodwife's reckoning<br>In the coin of song and tale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The songs they still are singing<br>Who dress the hills of vine,<br>The tales that haunt the Brocken<br>And whisper down the Rhine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Woodsy and wild and lonesome,<br>The swift stream wound away,<br>Through birches and scarlet maples<br>Flashing in foam and spray,-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down on the sharp-horned ledges<br>Plunging in steep cascade,<br>Tossing its white-maned waters<br>Against the hemlock's shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Woodsy and wild and lonesome,<br>East and west and north and south;<br>Only the village of fishers<br>Down at the river's mouth;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Only here and there a clearing,<br>With its farm-house rude and new,<br>And tree-stumps, swart as Indians,<br>Where the scanty harvest grew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No shout of home-bound reapers,<br>No vintage-song he heard,<br>And on the green no dancing feet<br>The merry violin stirred.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Why should folk be glum,' said Keezar,<br>'When Nature herself is glad,<br>And the painted woods are laughing<br>At the faces so sour and sad?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Small heed had the careless cobbler<br>What sorrow of heart was theirs<br>Who travailed in pain with the births of God,<br>And planted a state with prayers,-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hunting of witches and warlocks,<br>Smiting the heathen horde,-<br>One hand on the mason's trowel,<br>And one on the soldier's sword.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But give him his ale and cider,<br>Give him his pipe and song,<br>Little he cared for Church or State,<br>Or the balance of right and wrong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T is work, work, work,' he muttered,-<br>'And for rest a snuffle of psalms!'<br>He smote on his leathern apron<br>With his brown and waxen palms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh for the purple harvests<br>Of the days when I was young<br>For the merry grape-stained maidens,<br>And the pleasant songs they sung!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh for the breath of vineyards,<br>Of apples and nuts and wine<br>For an oar to row and a breeze to blow<br>Down the grand old river Rhine!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A tear in his blue eye glistened,<br>And dropped on his beard so gray.<br>'Old, old am I,' said Keezar,<br>'And the Rhine flows far away!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But a cunning man was the cobbler;<br>He could call the birds from the trees,<br>Charm the black snake out of the ledges,<br>And bring back the swarming bees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the virtues of herbs and metals,<br>All the lore of the woods, he knew,<br>And the arts of the Old World mingle<br>With the marvels of the New.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well he knew the tricks of magic,<br>And the lapstone on his knee<br>Had the gift of the Mormon's goggles<br>Or the stone of Doctor Dee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the mighty master Agrippa<br>Wrought it with spell and rhyme<br>From a fragment of mystic moonstone<br>In the tower of Nettesheim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To a cobbler Minnesinger<br>The marvellous stone gave he,-<br>And he gave it, in turn, to Keezar,<br>Who brought it over the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He held up that mystic lapstone,<br>He held it up like a lens,<br>And he counted the long years coming<br>Ey twenties and by tens.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'One hundred years,' quoth Keezar,<br>'And fifty have I told<br>Now open the new before me,<br>And shut me out the old!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a cloud of mist, the blackness<br>Rolled from the magic stone,<br>And a marvellous picture mingled<br>The unknown and the known.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still ran the stream to the river,<br>And river and ocean joined;<br>And there were the bluffs and the blue sea-line,<br>And cold north hills behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But-the mighty forest was broken<br>By many a steepled town,<br>By many a white-walled farm-house,<br>And many a garner brown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Turning a score of mill-wheels,<br>The stream no more ran free;<br>White sails on the winding river,<br>White sails on the far-off sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Below in the noisy village<br>The flags were floating gay,<br>And shone on a thousand faces<br>The light of a holiday.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Swiftly the rival ploughmen<br>Turned the brown earth from their shares;<br>Here were the farmer's treasures,<br>There were the craftsman's wares.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Golden the goodwife's butter,<br>Ruby her currant-wine;<br>Grand were the strutting turkeys,<br>Fat were the beeves and swine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yellow and red were the apples,<br>And the ripe pears russet-brown,<br>And the peaches had stolen blushes<br>From the girls who shook them down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And with blooms of hill and wildwood,<br>That shame the toil of art,<br>Mingled the gorgeous blossoms<br>Of the garden's tropic heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What is it I see?' said Keezar<br>'Am I here, or ant I there?<br>Is it a fete at Bingen?<br>Do I look on Frankfort fair?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But where are the clowns and puppets,<br>And imps with horns and tail?<br>And where are the Rhenish flagons?<br>And where is the foaming ale?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Strange things, I know, will happen,-<br>Strange things the Lord permits;<br>But that droughty folk should be jolly<br>Puzzles my poor old wits.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Here are smiling manly faces,<br>And the maiden's step is gay;<br>Nor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking,<br>Nor mopes, nor fools, are they.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Here's pleasure without regretting,<br>And good without abuse,<br>The holiday and the bridal<br>Of beauty and of use.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Here's a priest and there is a Quaker,<br>Do the cat and dog agree?<br>Have they burned the stocks for ovenwood?<br>Have they cut down the gallows-tree?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Would the old folk know their children?<br>Would they own the graceless town,<br>With never a ranter to worry<br>And never a witch to drown?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Loud laughed the cobbler Keezar,<br>Laughed like a school-boy gay;<br>Tossing his arms above him,<br>The lapstone rolled away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It rolled down the rugged hillside,<br>It spun like a wheel bewitched,<br>It plunged through the leaning willows,<br>And into the river pitched.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There, in the deep, dark water,<br>The magic stone lies still,<br>Under the leaning willows<br>In the shadow of the hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But oft the idle fisher<br>Sits on the shadowy bank,<br>And his dreams make marvellous pictures<br>Where the wizard's lapstone sank.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still, in the summer twilights,<br>When the river seems to run<br>Out from the inner glory,<br>Warm with the melted sun,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The weary mill-girl lingers<br>Beside the charmed stream,<br>And the sky and the golden water<br>Shape and color her dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Air wave the sunset gardens,<br>The rosy signals fly;<br>Her homestead beckons from the cloud,<br>And love goes sailing by.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420474" data-title="Cobbler Keezar's Vision de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="The beaver cut his timber
With patient teeth that day,
The minks were fish-wards, and the crows
Surveyors of highway,-

When Keezar sat on the hillside
Upon his cobbler's form,
With a pan of coals on either hand
To keep his waxed-ends warm.

And t..."></div>
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