History of Kalamazoo county, Michigan, Part 40

Author: Durant, Samuel W. comp
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Philadelphia. Everts & Abbott
Number of Pages: 761

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151

LITERARY.

Anderson. In 1873 appear Miss Clara M. Hitchcock, Miss H. Amelia White, Miss Jeannette L. Wells, Music; and Miss Adelia M. Wheaton, Matron. In 1874, new teachers were Miss Sarah A. Thayer, Miss Florence M. Cleland, Miss Edla M. Geer, Miss Mary M. Loveland. In 1875, Miss Sarah A. Hosford, Miss Fannie Wells, and Miss Frances H. Love, Music Teacher. In 1876, Miss Harriet Sessions, Acting Principal a part of the year ; Mrs. Laura E. Phetteplace and Miss Alice M. Allen, Music. In 1877, Miss Donna C. Davis and Miss Caroline E. Skinner, Music. In 1879-80, Miss Mary E. Hosford, Miss Edith L. Keables, and Miss Laurette A. Newhall, Music.

The present teachers for 1880 are as follows : Mrs. E. E. Thompson, Principal ; Miss Sarah E. Dorr, Miss Aristina D. Webster, Miss Edla M. Geer, Miss M. E. Hosford, and Miss Laurette A. Newhall, Teacher of Vocal and Instru- mental Music.

Many of these teachers have been connected with the institution several years.

CHAPTER XXII. LITERARY.

THIS chapter is made up of selections in poetry and prose from the writings of local authors, and presents to the reader an interesting variety of subjects, discussed in a manner not unworthy the æsthetic cultivation of much older communities. It has been sometimes considered that it required a land of rugged mountains, of dashing cascades and thundering waterfalls, to produce the deep thinker in nature's mysteries; but such is evidently not the case. Surely the land where the vast horizon of the prairie glimmers like the far-off waves of the sea, where beautiful lakelets sparkle in the sun, and where the virgin forest leads the mind "through nature up to nature's God," pos- sesses every requisite for the home of poesy,-every grand attribute which stirs the loftier feelings of the human soul.

We have compiled this chapter with the belief that it will be acceptable to our many readers, and with the hope that the " sweet singers of Michigan" will cherish the in- spiring Muse.

POEMS BY HON. E. LAKIN BROWN. THE YOUNG PIONEER.

" Oh, bright were the hopes of the young pioneer, And sweet was the joy that came o'er him, For his heart it was brave, and strong was his arm, And a broad, fertile land lay before him.

" And there by his side was his heart's chosen bride, Who want and privation knew never;

From kindred and home he had borne her away, To be guarded and cherished forever.

" A drear home for a bride is the wilderness wide, Her heart to old memories turning ; And lonely and sad, and o'erburdened with care, For kindred and sympathy yearning.

" Then stern was the task, and long was the toil,- Vain longing for all that was needed;

Yet bravely their toils and privations were borne, As the wilderness slowly receded.

" But the years rolled away, and prosperity came, Wealth and ease, on frugality founded ; Now the husband and wife tread the down-hill of life, By brave sons and fair daughters surrounded.

" And the young pioneer has grown stooping and gray, And he marvels his limbs are no stronger ; And the cheek of the bride is now sallow and thin, And her eye beams with brightness no longer.

" All honor and praise to the old pioneers ; You never may know all their story ; What they found but a desert, a garden became, And their toil and success is their glory."

KALA .*

" When gory war lays waste a happy land, And arms with blood-red scourge oppression's hand ; When cities sack'd and pillaged farms betray The unmeasured woes that mark the lust of sway ; Then comes the bard, and with triumphal song Exalts the victor and conceals the wrong : Or, when grown old, outworn with blood and crime, Some hoary empire yields to fate and time, In sad, pathetic strains the poet sings,- Rome's ancient glories or Assyria's kings. O, humble heart of mine ! if such the strain, Well might thy trembling strings be touched in vain. No songs of joy should greet the warrior's ear Save such as Freedom bends with joy to hear ; No sad lament should mourn oppression's fall Save Mene tekel, on her crumbling wall. But if the noble contest of the free With outward nature, and the victory ; If the fair village and the fruitful plain, Which late usurped rude nature's drear domain ; If Kala's fair invite such strains of thine, How should thy numbers swell, O honored harp of mine !

" Fit were such theme for his immortal strain Who sung ' Sweet Auburn, loveliest of the plain ;' Yet pensive sung, in mournful garb arrayed, A ruined land, 'by luxury betrayed.' Oh, how unlike the theme that greets me now ; The pearls that shine on Kala's youthful brow ! Her brief, bright childhood, drawn on memory's page, And all her glorious hopes of future age !

" I saw thee, Kala-'twas but yesterday- When these thronged streets in nature's stillness lay : Kala's fair stream that rolled its silver tide, By pendant boughs embraced on either side ; The flickering shadows of the leafy trees ; The tall grass waving in the summer breeze ; The grazing deer, whose restless ear now turns Where the lone ring-dove sadly sits and mourns ; Now, where the squirrel, brisk with chattering glee, Drops his peeled rind from out the walnut-tree ; The listless Indian, whose quick eye is cast To see the hawk, whose shadow glances past ; These were the visions fair that graced the scene -- Nature's own wild, untrodden, stainless green. And yet the traveler's curious eye might trace Mysterious tokens of a vanished race : Long rows of garden-beds, in order due, Where once what unknown plants, luxuriant, grew ! What various flowers repaid the florist's care, Spread their gay blooms and scented all the air ! Now the old oak upon these beds appears Intruder still, though half a thousand years Of sole possession ratify his claim Against the fruits and flowers without a name. There, too, the mound its cone-like form displays, Enduring monument of other days !

* Delivered before the Ladies' Library Association, of Kalamazoo, at the quarter-century celebration of the village and county, June 21, 1854.

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HISTORY OF KALAMAZOO COUNTY, MICHIGAN.

"See what is fame! Some brave old warrior here, Chief of his tribe, to fame and glory dear, In battle slain, after an hundred foes Had felt the vengeance that a warrior owes, Is tombed, with all that savage pomp could give To bid the memory of the hero live; And, lest the warrior in the shadowy land Might need some weapon for his shadowy hand, His well-strung bow is placed beside him here, His copper hatchet, and his ashen spear ; And, meet provisions for the ethereal plains, Venison and corn an earthen jar contains : This heaped-up mound of earth remains the same ; But of the warrior neither race nor name !

" Here, by this lonely mound in forest dell, Might pensive melancholy love to dwell, And muse on all the vanity of things,- The fame of warriors, and the 'pride of kings !' Yet even here, o'er these deserted plains, Where nature slumbers, and where silence reigns; Where the drear past has rolled its fruitless years, And scarce a record of their flight appears, A change is coming, and the sign is nigh, Filled with strange wonders to prophetic eye; For lo ! slow moving through the oaken glade, Now gleaming in the sun, now darkening in the shade, A canvas-covered wagon looms to view ; The deer espies it, and the red man too ; A few light bounds the wild deer gives, and then Stops, looks, and, snorting, bounds away again : The Indian, to his native caution true, An intervening tree conceals from view ; Whence, peering out, his keen, observant eye Watches the lumbering vehicle draw nigh.

"O artful Indian ! and O bounding deer ! Well may ye note that white-topped wain draw near; For wheresoe'er that vision has been seen Your race has vanished from the woodland green ! But slowly on the laboring wagon rolls, Through open glades and o'er surrounding knolls, To where a brook winds merrily along, Gladdening its journey with its own low song. Now on the bank of the meandering rill This strange, intruding vehicle stands still ; And he to whom its long-arched roof gives birth Has nowhere else his prototype on earth. His speech is that of England, but yet free From English brogue; no foreign tongue has he ; A certain something in his careless air Proves not her culture, if her blood is there; In his queer lexicon of words are some Derived from Kentuck, or from Hoosierdom ; His strong right hand the ready rifle grasps, His axe the left with equal vigor clasps ; With equal nerve prepared the foe to meet, Or lay the forest prostrate at his feet. His head erect, his bearing proud and free, Might fit Castilian knight of high degree; Yet more unlike in heart and thought and deed Than Sancho's master and his sorry steed : He spurns all tinsel and all false pretense, His guiding genius sterling common sense. Deep in his breast the fires of freedom dwell, As in the children of the land of Tell; Lightly he'd reck in war's red front to stand, Battling for freedom and his native land, Where'er their wings Columbia's eagles spread, His country's ensign waving o'er his head; But not, poor Switzer, not like thine, his sword Is drawn, the hireling of a foreign lord. A little boastful, yet 'tis oftener shown To prove his country's prowess than his own ; 'Tis what we are, he boasts, not what I am ; His faith, and hope, and pride is Uncle Sam.

Of his own country's universal heart His quicker throbs to feel itself a part ; He deems no special guerdon due because He loves his country and obeys her laws ; Saving alone the right to meet her foes, Or make 'the desert blossom as the rose.'

" Ye helpless, heartless, mercenary band, Like Egypt's frogs, that fill and curse the land; Whose noisy croakings indicate your zeal For your own private, not the public, weal ; Though skilless all to guide your own affairs, Yet of the public claim to manage theirs; To all above with servile flattery bow, Yet proud and arrogant to all below ; Ye slimy crawlers for the public pelf, Whose creed is party, and whose party self, Go note the hardy pioneer, whose hand Widens the borders of his native land,- Go note him well, and learn, if learn you can, What 'tis to be a patriot and a man.

" And there is one whose true and trusting heart Braves with him all, and bears in all a part; Where'er he wanders, or what ill betide, She shares his fortunes, ever at his side. On the broad prairie, or in forest gloom, His humble cabin is her happy home : From her loved friends and kindred far away, The faithful-hearted labors day by day. Courageous spirit ! who could bear like thee Thy lonely life, thy toil and poverty ! With wifely care the weary hours beguile, And make even barren desolation smile !

" When the lone traveler on Illina's plains, Or where Iowa spreads her broad domains, Benighted, weary, dubious of his way, That endless seemed, and trackless e'en by day ; Naught but the prairie wilderness around ; No cheerful tree, and no familiar sound ; Naught but the curlew's wild and wailing cry, Or the marsh bittern's dismal melody ; Or, as thick darkness settles on the plain, The wolf's long howl is answered back again ; Of the low cabin, like a setting star, Descries the light, dull-glimmering from afar, How, with a lightened heart and quickened pace, He hastens toward that welcome resting-place ; For well he knows that woman's hand is there To lay the couch and spread the humble fare; And, though without all cheerless seems, and mean, Order, and joy, and comfort reign within. Such are the homes, the nurseries of a race That stands unrivaled on the earth's broad face ; Such were the homes that lined thy sounding shore, O bleak New England ! in the days of yore. Such homes, such mothers nurtured those strong arms And stronger hearts, that, when wild war's alarms Had paled the cheek and quailed the heart of all The sons of fear whom tyrants can enthral, At the armed despot stern defiance hurled, And Freedom's flag on the free air unfurled ! Such were the mothers and such homes were they,- The natal homes of Webster and of Clay.

" Why have these names, and many scarce less great, Sprung from so low a source, so rude a state ? Ye titled lordlings ! it were well to know Fair Freedom's children may be poor, not low ; Her poorest sons may fix on fame's bright star ; No laws oppress him and no titles bar, And the clear voice that in rude cabin rings May charm grave senates and may humble kings. Up toward the good, the great, the right, the high, The way is clear for all, as toward the sky ;

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While only wrong law's stern restraint may know, As earth's foundations bar the depths below.

"'Tis this, my country ! makes thy glorious name A watchword to the nations,-a bright flame With living fire, to wither and consume Old giant tyrannies ; and to illume, O'er all the earth with Liberty's clear light, Oppression's gloomy realms, her long and dreary night ! 'Tis this that leads the exile to thy shore,- Pleased to remain, an exile now no more; Or in far nations shields him,-and how well, Koszta can answer, or, let Austria tell. 'Tis this that gives, to serve thy countless sons, A slave far better than all human ones,- Bright-eyed and many-handed, that ere long Shall purge that foul, hereditary wrong Wherewith thy young limbs fester ; for in vain The galling fetter and the clanking chain, To serve our needs or feed our luxury, Facile invention ! shall compete with thee. 'Tis this that moulds, with utmost skill, the form Of the wing'd ship, to brave the ocean storm, With least resistance part the yielding tide, And dash the billows from her shapely side; With nicest art that forms the spreading sail To catch the utmost of the favoring gale, Until the boasted mistress of the sea Reluctant yields and leaves the palmn with thee. 'Tis this that sends careering fast and far, In thousand mazy lines, the rapid car ; That, fire impelled, in flaming course is driven, Like the red meteor, o'er the face of heaven !

"'Tis this that o'er earth's cold and torpid breast, Which since creation lay in lifeless rest, Spreads finest nerves, that permeates the whole, And with electric fire makes it a living soul : Lands far removed by mountain, lake, and sea Are joined in bonds of mutual sympathy ; The quivering nerves the distant impulse feel, And swift as light the far-off thought reveal. ' Tis this that scatters with unfettered hand, In countless thousands, wide throughout the land, With all their power to instruct, to improve, to bless, The unnumbered offspring of a liberal press : Those airy sprites that, on untiring wing, To every hearth their various tidings bring ; Each outrage new of hoary wrong proclaim, Each noble action consecrate to fame ; With prompt alarm warn of each threatened right, And drag corruption's darkest deeds to light.

" O holy Freedom ! these are but the sign And visible out-croppings of that mine Of countless wealth which lies concealed in thee. Wherever settler fells the forest-tree, Turns the fresh soil, and builds his little home, Thou, guardian spirit! with him there dost come : 'Twas thou that led'st him to the forest wild, Cheered all his toils, and on his labors smiled. Wherever learning's first rude temples stand, There they were planted by thy careful hand ; And all above, of whatsoe'er degree, From thee are sprung, and dedicate to thee ; Where'er Religion lifts her heavenward spire, Her light were dim without thy holy fire ; And scarce a hamlet where thy foot has trod But has its temple pointing up to God. Virtue and truth from old oppression flee, And find congenial home alone with thee ; And maiden purity and manly pride Dwell where thou dwellest, flourish by thy side. O can it be ! and shall thy sons confess, Nurtured by thee, they learned to love thee less; 20

And for a pottage, only less vile than they, Cast half thy glorious heritage away ? Say, shall thy beams, that light our northern sky, Grow sickly pale, and, fitful flickering, die, Quenched by the baleful breath of Slavery ? No, Freedom, no ! the hideous monster's power Is rushing headlong to its fated hour. I see thy sons in countless numbers rise, And on the wind I hear their vengeful cries : ' Back, demon! back ! back to thy noisome den ! The soil of Freedom rears not slaves, but men !' Humbled, abased, I see the fiend retire, Appalled with fear before thy children's ire !

" And thou, O Kala! happy thrice art thou That Freedom's gems adorn thy shining brow ; And happy, too, not thus alone to stand ; For many a sister fair throughout the land, Like thee adorned, lifts her proud head on high, In youthful grace and glorious majesty. Sprung from one source, to the same goal ye tend; One common parent and one common end : A sister band, by Freedom linked in love, Through the long course of future years ye move.

Prophetic eye, through the dim mists afar, May note each brilliant, although differing star ; In varied constellations see them shine, With light and harmony almost divine; Till gazing long, on the fair scene intent, Dazzled and blinded turns from Freedom's firmament.

"So brief, so bright thy past ; thy coming years So fraught with hopes, so all undimmed with fears ; And on thy natal day, with garlands crowned, Thy own glad presence scattereth joy around ; Yet in thy joy a sadness shades thy brow For many a noble heart all pulseless now That was of thee the glory : many an eye Whose kindling glance beamed on thy infancy Is closed forever : many a voice is stilled Whose tones of love through all thy being thrilled. And these are gone, O Kala ! like a dream Whose empty visions are not what they seem : And in our turn, ere long, we too shall pass, Like inane shadows on the silvered glass : All who have made and make thee what thou art, As fate decrees shall one by one depart. But thou wilt still remain; for thee appears A long-drawn vista of unnumbered years : I see thee far adown the centuries, The light and joy of myriad loving eyes : Kala, the beautiful ! thy Indian name And the Greek liquid epithet the same- Kala, e kale : be thou ever so While in thy gentle stream the silvery waters flow."

THE PIONEERS.

"Yes, everything is changed, John, there's nothing seems the same; And yet it was not long ago, the time when first we came; But the years have passed so swiftly, my hair is white as snow, And not a white hair when I came,-it's forty years ago.

"'Twas here I set my stake, John, when all was wild and new. We followed up the Indian trail-ours was the first team through. Just there our wagon stood that night-we heard the wolf howl then, And the first sound heard as morning dawned was the boom of the prairie hen.

"Then came days of trial and toil, but we weathered them bravely through ;

For your grandmother had a cheerful heart and was ever brave and true.

And your father and Jake were stout lads then, and Nancy and Mary and Kate

Could lend a hand in cabin or field, and we all worked early and late.

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HISTORY OF KALAMAZOO COUNTY, MICHIGAN.

"And the Indian seemed half-sad, half-pleased, as our cabin logs were laid;

For he dreaded the white man's grasping hand, though fond of the white man's aid.

His sullenest moods we ever beguiled with the hand of welcome and cheer.

To his sunniest smiles we trusted not, and the loaded rifle was near. "'Twas there we had the first field of wheat, right over behind the barn,

And here, where the orchard and garden are, that spring we planted corn.

'Twas a cheerful thing to see them grow, on the new-turned prairie sod.

And never a harvest was gathered in with more grateful thanks to God.

" We had never a barn nor a thrashing-floor, and the mill was far to find ;

But we trod the wheat on the prairie's turf, and cleaned it in the wind.

For the saying is true, 'There's always a way wherever there's a will ;'

And I threaded the paths and forded the streams between us and the mill.

"But neighbors soon began to come, and as soon as the second year We could count a dozen cabin smokes from where we are standing here.

'Twas a pleasant sight on the prairie's rim ; and sweet, as evening fell, Was the sound of each settler's lowing kine and faintly tinkling bell.

" And with the settlers came the Law, John, for law is the right of all ;

And never a man of Saxon blood that held the law a thrall. I served as well as I knew, John, as juror, squire, or judge,

And never false judgment stained my name through fear or favor or grudge.

" I say it not in pride, John; I wanted you to know

I did my duty as I could so many years ago.

And you will be called, as I was called, between the right and wrong. And wrong upheld will canker a life, though life be never so long.

" And I've been greatly prospered in basket and in store, And have seen such changes in forty years as were never seen before. The Country,-you know its grandeur, its glory, and its fame,

And how forever has been removed the shame that stained its name.

" And, then, the mysteries explored, the wondrous things found out. I do not understand them, John, and yet I cannot doubt.

Two months was the time from Europe, and full two weeks from home,

And now we hear in a single day from London or from Rome.

" And the huge and mighty engines, with their long and fire-drawn trains,

That are running forever, in thousand ways, o'er mountains and o'er plains.

Such things had never been seen, John, the day that I came here, And I always see them onward rush with a sense of awe and fear.

"And the sun, the mighty painter ! one instant, and it's done, A picture that no human hand can paint you such a one ! There's nothing done in the old way, but everything is new. We neither sow, nor reap, nor thrash in the way we used to do.

" The old neighbors who came first, John, and settled here by me,- Some sold and went, and some have died,-there's only two or three. They may have been rough and rude, John, not always just and true, But, dear old friend, the tear will start whenever I think of you !

" And her, the kindest friend of all, the dearest and the best, Not long ago I laid away in everlasting rest.

You'll lay me by her side, John, the time will not be long, Where the oak-tree casts his shadows, and the robin sings his song.

"The old place will be yours, John, the rest have had their share. I meant it for your father, who died in Freedom's war.

'Twas my home in early manhood, 'tis my home now I am old. The deed was signed by Jackson, -I'd not like to have it sold.

"Yes, everything is changed, John, there's nothing seems the same ; And yet it was not long ago, the time when first we came; But the years have passed so swiftly,-my hair is white as snow, And not a white hair when I came,-it's forty years ago."

WA-WE-OS-CO-TANG. *

"Ye who in mad ambition's vain career Seek for that good ye might have found so near ; Ye who so idly thirst and inly pine For glittering spoils of Sacramento's mine- Come to the prairies. Come where nature's hand Has showered all blessings on this fruitful land ; And while the glorious scene aright ye view, Learn what delusive visions ye pursue.

"I knew thee well, fair Wa-we-os-co-tang, When the shrill whoop along thy borders rang; When thy proud sons thy broad area trod, And owned no better title than from God ! By nature taught, they knew no human law Save the mild rule of gray-haired Sagamaw. I saw thee decked in nature's chiefest pride, In gayer colors than an Eastern bride ; And oft, as if some newer charm to try, In gayer colors still allured the eye. I, too, beheld, what well might awe inspire, Pass o'er thy face the annual scourge of fire ! In early spring, when the returning sun To dry the storm-drenched earth had now begun, And the light winds had lifted, dry and sere, The faded produce of the former year, Some roving hunter's hand the torch applies, And quick around the darting flames arise ; Before the wind they leap and flash on high, And rise in lurid columns to the sky.

Wide and more wide the flaming wave extends, 'Till in each distant wood the fiery billow ends ; Then rushing on, as if with maddened ire, Laps the whole plain in one broad sheet of fire ! The plover, screaming, seeks some distant fen ; The flying deer scarce reach the wooded glen. By slow degrees at length the flames decay, Flashing now here, now there, and die away. Lo, now the scene ! the whole vast plain outspread Black as the pall that shrouds the coffined dead ! No tree, no shrub, no living thing is seen ; No blade of russet grass or springing green. Black desolation broods o'er all the plain, Which seems as blasted ne'er to bloom again. And yet not all, for lo! the wondering eye Beholds a forest pointing to the sky. Full in the midst of all the dreary waste Some magic art a sacred grove has placed.

A thousand times the circling flames have swathed The enchanted grove, yet left the grove unscathed. Full, round, and fair its swelling curves appear, No tree is blasted, and no limb is sere. Is it the elves-the sylvan deities-

Keep watch and ward around these sacred trees, Protecting them by some mysterious power,

That e'en the scathing flames may not devour ? I say not, I; although hard by I've seen Strange circling footprints on the dewy green. Perchance the red man truly may avow The kind protecting care of Manitou. Howe'er it be, yet this, at least, is true : The grove in beauty looms upon the view, Seeming ' an island in an inland sea,' O'er which some demon power, in wicked glee, Or wrathful spite, his powerful charm had cast, And changed the circling flood into the blackened waste.

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History of Kalamazoo county, Michigan, Part 40

Author: Durant, Samuel W. comp Publication date: 1880 Publisher: Philadelphia. Everts & Abbott Number of Pages: 761

Author: Durant, Samuel W. comp
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Philadelphia. Everts & Abbott
Number of Pages: 761