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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420566" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mary Garvin</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">FROM the heart of Waumbek Methna, from the<br>lake that never fails,<br>Falls the Saco in the green lap of Conway's<br>intervales;<br>There, in wild and virgin freshness, its waters<br>foam and flow,<br>As when Darby Field first saw them, two hundred<br>years ago.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, vexed in all its seaward course with bridges,<br>dams, and mills,<br>How changed is Saco's stream, how lost its freedom<br>of the hills,<br>Since travelled Jocelyn, factor Vines, and stately<br>Champernoon<br>Heard on its banks the gray wolf's howl, the trumpet<br>of the loon!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With smoking axle hot with speed, with steeds of<br>fire and steam,<br>Wide-waked To-day leaves Yesterday behind him<br>like a dream.<br>Still, from the hurrying train of Life, fly backward<br>far and fast<br>The milestones of the fathers, the landmarks of<br>the past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But human hearts remain unchanged: the sorrow<br>and the sin,<br>The loves and hopes and fears of old, are to our<br>own akin;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if, in tales our fathers told, the songs our<br>mothers sung,<br>Tradition wears a snowy beard, Romance is always<br>young.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O sharp-lined man of traffic, on Saco's banks today!<br>O mill-girl watching late and long the shuttle's<br>restless play!<br>Let, for the once, a listening ear the working hand<br>beguile,<br>And lend my old Provincial tale, as suits, a tear or<br>smile!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The evening gun had sounded from gray Fort<br>Mary's walls;<br>Through the forest, like a wild beast, roared and<br>plunged the Saco's' falls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And westward on the sea-wind, that damp and<br>gusty grew,<br>Over cedars darkening inland the smokes of Spurwink<br>blew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the hearth of Farmer Garvin, blazed the crackling<br>walnut log;<br>Right and left sat dame and goodman, and between<br>them lay the dog,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Head on paws, and tail slow wagging, and beside<br>him on her mat,<br>Sitting drowsy in the firelight, winked and purred<br>the mottled cat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twenty years!' said Goodman Garvin, speaking<br>sadly, under breath,<br>And his gray head slowly shaking, as one who<br>speaks of death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The goodwife dropped her needles: 'It is twenty<br>years to-day,<br>Since the Indians fell on Saco, and stole our child<br>away.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then they sank into the silence, for each knew<br>the other's thought,<br>Of a great and common sorrow, and words were,<br>needed not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Who knocks?' cried Goodman Garvin. The<br>door was open thrown;<br>On two strangers, man and maiden, cloaked and<br>furred, the fire-light shone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One with courteous gesture lifted the bear-skin<br>from his head;<br>'Lives here Elkanah Garvin?' 'I am he,' the<br>goodman said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Sit ye down, and dry and warm ye, for the night<br>is chill with rain.'<br>And the goodwife drew the settle, and stirred the<br>fire amain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The maid unclasped her cloak-hood, the firelight<br>glistened fair<br>In her large, moist eyes, and over soft folds of<br>dark brown hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dame Garvin looked upon her: 'It is Mary's self<br>I see!'<br>'Dear heart!' she cried, 'now tell me, has my<br>child come back to me?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My name indeed is Mary,' said the stranger sobbing<br>wild;<br>'Will you be to me a mother? I am Mary Garvin's child!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She sleeps by wooded Simcoe, but on her dying<br>day<br>She bade my father take me to her kinsfolk far<br>away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And when the priest besought her to do me no<br>such wrong,<br>She said, 'May God forgive me! I have closed<br>my heart too long.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''When I hid me from my father, and shut out<br>my mother's call,<br>I sinned against those dear ones, and the Father<br>of us all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Christ's love rebukes no home-love, breaks no<br>tie of kin apart;<br>Better heresy in doctrine, than heresy of heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Tell me not the Church must censure: she who<br>wept the Cross beside<br>Never made her own flesh strangers, nor the claims<br>of blood denied;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''And if she who wronged her parents, with her<br>child atones to them,<br>Earthly daughter, Heavenly Mother! thou at least<br>wilt not condemn!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'So, upon her death-bed lying, my blessed mother<br>spake;<br>As we come to do her bidding, So receive us for her<br>sake.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'God be praised!' said Goodwife Garvin, 'He taketh,<br>and He gives;<br>He woundeth, but He healeth; in her child our<br>daughter lives!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Amen!' the old man answered, as he brushed a<br>tear away,<br>And, kneeling by his hearthstone, said, with reverence,<br>'Let us pray.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All its Oriental symbols, and its Hebrew pararphrase,<br>Warm with earnest life and feeling, rose his prayer<br>of love and praise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But he started at beholding, as he rose from off<br>his knee,<br>The stranger cross his forehead with the sign of<br>Papistrie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What is this?' cried Farmer Garvin. 'Is an English<br>Christian's home<br>A chapel or a mass-house, that you make the sign<br>of Rome?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the young girl knelt beside him, kissed his<br>trembling hand, and cried:<br>Oh, forbear to chide my father; in that faith my<br>mother died!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'On her wooden cross at Simcoe the dews and<br>sunshine fall,<br>As they fall on Spurwink's graveyard; and the<br>dear God watches all!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The old man stroked the fair head that rested on<br>his knee;<br>'Your words, dear child,' he answered, 'are God's<br>rebuke to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Creed and rite perchance may differ, yet our<br>faith and hope be one.<br>Let me be your father's father, let him be to me<br>a son.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the horn, on Sabbath morning, through the<br>still and frosty air,<br>From Spurwink, Pool, and Black Point, called to<br>sermon and to prayer,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To the goodly house of worship, where, in order<br>due and fit,<br>As by public vote directed, classed and ranked the<br>people sit;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mistress first and goodwife after, clerkly squire<br>before the clown,<br>'From the brave coat, lace-embroidered, to the gray<br>frock, shading down;'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the pulpit read the preacher, 'Goodman<br>Garvin and his wife<br>Fain would thank the Lord, whose kindness has<br>followed them through life,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'For the great and crowning mercy, that their<br>daughter, from the wild,<br>Where she rests (they hope in God's peace), has<br>sent to them her child;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And the prayers of all God's people they ask,<br>that they may prove<br>Not unworthy, through their weakness, of such<br>special proof of love.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As the preacher prayed, uprising, the aged couple<br>stood,<br>And the fair Canadian also, in her modest maiden-<br>hood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thought the elders, grave and doubting, 'She is<br>Papist born and bred;'<br>Thought the young men, ''T is an angel in Mary<br>Garvin's stead!'</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=420566" data-title="Mary Garvin de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="FROM the heart of Waumbek Methna, from the
lake that never fails,
Falls the Saco in the green lap of Conway's
intervales;
There, in wild and virgin freshness, its waters
foam and flow,
As when Darby Field first saw them, two hundred
years ago.

Bu..."></div>
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