Works

(From the prose of Parkman.)

I. THE WINTER.

September bade the sail of Pontgrav'
Godspeed, and smil'd upon the infant nation;
October deckt the shores and hills with "gay...

Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared,
And lifelong tilled with patient, loving hands?
Why should we leave the homes our fathers reared,
And seek strange dwellings in unhallowed lands?...