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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420509" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Haverhill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1640-1890.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O river winding to the sea!<br>We call the old time back to thee;<br>From forest paths and water-ways<br>The century-woven veil we raise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The voices of to-day are dumb,<br>Unheard its sounds that go and come;<br>We listen, through long-lapsing years,<br>To footsteps of the pioneers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gone steepled town and cultured plain,<br>The wilderness returns again,<br>The drear, untrodden solitude,<br>The gloom and mystery of the wood!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once more the bear and panther prowl,<br>The wolf repeats his hungry howl,<br>And, peering through his leafy screen,<br>The Indian's copper face is seen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We see, their rude-built huts beside,<br>Grave men and women anxious-eyed,<br>And wistful youth remembering still<br>Dear homes in England's Haverhill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We summon forth to mortal view<br>Dark Passaquo and Saggahew,--<br>Wild chiefs, who owned the mighty sway<br>Of wizard Passaconaway.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Weird memories of the border town,<br>By old tradition handed down,<br>In chance and change before us pass<br>Like pictures in a magic glass,--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The terrors of the midnight raid,<br>The-death-concealing ambuscade,<br>The winter march, through deserts wild,<br>Of captive mother, wife, and child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! bleeding hands alone subdued<br>And tamed the savage habitude<br>Of forests hiding beasts of prey,<br>And human shapes as fierce as they.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slow from the plough the woods withdrew,<br>Slowly each year the corn-lands grew;<br>Nor fire, nor frost, nor foe could kill<br>The Saxon energy of will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And never in the hamlet's bound<br>Was lack of sturdy manhood found,<br>And never failed the kindred good<br>Of brave and helpful womanhood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That hamlet now a city is,<br>Its log-built huts are palaces;<br>The wood-path of the settler's cow<br>Is Traffic's crowded highway now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And far and wide it stretches still,<br>Along its southward sloping hill,<br>And overlooks on either hand<br>A rich and many-watered land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, gladdening all the landscape, fair<br>As Pison was to Eden's pair,<br>Our river to its valley brings<br>The blessing of its mountain springs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Nature holds with narrowing space,<br>From mart and crowd, her old-time grace,<br>And guards with fondly jealous arms<br>The wild growths of outlying farms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her sunsets on Kenoza fall,<br>Her autumn leaves by Saltonstall;<br>No lavished gold can richer make<br>Her opulence of hill and lake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wise was the choice which led out sires<br>To kindle here their household fires,<br>And share the large content of all<br>Whose lines in pleasant places fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">More dear, as years on years advance,<br>We prize the old inheritance,<br>And feel, as far and wide we roam,<br>That all we seek we leave at home.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our palms are pines, our oranges<br>Are apples on our orchard trees;<br>Our thrushes are our nightingales,<br>Our larks the blackbirds of our vales.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No incense which the Orient burns<br>Is sweeter than our hillside ferns;<br>What tropic splendor can outvie<br>Our autumn woods, our sunset sky?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If, where the slow years came and went,<br>And left not affluence, but content,<br>Now flashes in our dazzled eyes<br>The electric light of enterprise;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if the old idyllic ease<br>Seems lost in keen activities,<br>And crowded workshops now replace<br>The hearth's and farm-field's rustic grace;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>No dull, mechanic round of toil<br>Life's morning charm can quite despoil;<br>And youth and beauty, hand in hand,<br>Will always find enchanted land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No task is ill where hand and brain<br>And skill and strength have equal gain,<br>And each shall each in honor hold,<br>And simple manhood outweigh gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earth shall be near to Heaven when all<br>That severs man from man shall fall,<br>For, here or there, salvation's plan<br>Alone is love of God and man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O dwellers by the Merrimac,<br>The heirs of centuries at your back,<br>Still reaping where you have not sown,<br>A broader field is now your own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hold fast your Puritan heritage,<br>But let the free thought of the age<br>Its light and hope and sweetness add<br>To the stern faith the fathers had.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Adrift on Time's returnless tide,<br>As waves that follow waves, we glide.<br>God grant we leave upon the shore<br>Some waif of good it lacked before;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some seed, or flower, or plant of worth,<br>Some added beauty to the earth;<br>Some larger hope, some thought to make<br>The sad world happier for its sake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As tenants of uncertain stay,<br>So may we live our little day<br>That only grateful hearts shall fill<br>The homes we leave in Haverhill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The singer of a farewell rhyme,<br>Upon whose outmost verge of time<br>The shades of night are falling down,<br>I pray, God bless the good old town!</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=420509" data-title="Haverhill de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="1640-1890.

O river winding to the sea!
We call the old time back to thee;
From forest paths and water-ways
The century-woven veil we raise.

The voices of to-day are dumb,
Unheard its sounds that go and come;
We listen, through long-lapsing years..."></div>
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