Poems (Osgood)/New England's Mountain Child

4445293Poems — New England's Mountain ChildFrances Sargent Osgood

NEW ENGLAND'S MOUNTAIN-CHILD.
Where foams the fall—a tameless storm—
Through Nature's wild and rich arcade,
Which forest-trees entwining form,
There trips the Mountain-maid!

She binds not her luxuriant hair
With dazzling gem or costly plume,
But gayly wreathes a rose-bud there,
To match her maiden-bloom.

She clasps no golden zone of pride
Her fair and simple robe around;
By flowing riband, lightly tied,
Its graceful folds are bound.

And thus attired,—a sportive thing,
Pure, loving, guileless, bright, and wild,—
Proud Fashion! match me in your ring,
New England's Mountain-child!

She scorns to sell her rich, warm heart,
For paltry gold, or haughty rank,—
But gives her love, untaught by art,
Confiding, free, and frank!

And once bestow'd,—no fortune-change
That high and generous faith can alter;
Through grief and pain—too pure to range—
She will not fly or falter.

Her foot will bound as light and free
In lowly hut as palace-hall;
Her sunny smile as warm will be,—
For Love to her is all!

Hast seen where in our woodland-gloom
The rich Magnolia proudly smiled?—
So brightly doth she bud and bloom,
New England's Mountain-child!

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