*T Moore, Saratoga (mooresaratoga4) *U Poem http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/xmas/livingstonmoore/mooresaratoga.htm#saratoga4 *U Grammar http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/xmasresearch/grammarmoore.htm#saratoga4 *U Search http://www.iment.com/maida/familytree/henry/xmasresearch/searchablemoorespoems.htm#saratoga4 *C Moore's 'Poems' 1844 From sleep profound our young folk op'd their eyes, When first the warning bell sent forth its peal; And for a moment gazed, with that surprise Which, waking far from home, we're wont to feel. Anon, they heard their father bid them rise, And, quick, make ready for their morning meal. That o'er, they sprang their journey to pursue; First casting round their rooms a parting look: For this last glance, if travellers tell what's true, Saves many a straggling kerchief, cap, or book. Now are the party on their way again, Well stow'd, our Henry 'mid his sons and daughters, And swiftly gliding in the railroad train To Saratoga's fam'd health-giving waters. Of all the joys that from our senses flow, None are, perhaps, more exquisitely keen Than those emotions which light spirits know When entering first upon a rural scene. The azure heav'n that calls our thoughts on high; The glorious light of summer shed around; The hills and vales that in the prospect lie; The cloud-form'd shadows flying o'er the ground; The cool untainted zephyr gently blowing; The shrubs and grass refresh'd by ev'ning showers; The sparkling streams along the valleys flowing; The trees wide spread, or cluster'd into bowers; While rapid motion, as the carriage flies, Stirs up new life and spirit in the soul, Just as the mantling foam and bubbles rise In generous wine that's dash'd into the bowl; --- These, and unnumber'd other pure delights With which the varied charms of Nature shine, Give to the heart an impulse that excites A joy that seems to have a touch divine. But pleasure, soon or late, is dash'd with pain; For mists will hide the landscape from the eye; The clearest skies will gather clouds and rain; Cool winds will heated grow, and dust will fly. Some of those pleasures, and these troubles too, While on their way, our younger party felt. The day wax'd warm; they all impatient grew; No more on rural scenes their fancies dwelt; They long'd from crowded durance to get free, And stretch at ease their cramp'd up limbs, once more; And though, at first, nought could exceed their glee, At length, they fairly wish'd their journey o'er. On, on, the engine, puffing, panting, went; Impatient, as it seem'd, the goal to reach; And, ever and anon, afar it sent Its warning voice, with fearful goblin screech. Away, as from a monster's jaws outspread, Th' astonish'd beasts o'er hill and valley bound: With eyes wild gleaming, from unwonted dread, And, head and ears erect, they gaze around. At length, their father bid his children cheer; For, at the rate they then were hurl'd along, Their durance soon should end, as they were near To Saratoga's idly busy throng. Soon as arriv'd, like vultures on their prey, The keen attendants on the baggage fell; And trunks and bags were quickly caught away, And in the destin'd dwelling thrown pell-mell. Then names were register'd, and rooms were shown, And, for the dinner dress, arrangements made: And, ere another rapid hour had flown, By joyous hearts the summons was obey'd. Life pass'd without some purpose kept in view Were worse than death. The lonely pris'ner craves Some painful task or labor to pursue; And, for relief, the fiercest danger braves. How then could sons of pleasure chase away From these gay scenes the horrors of ennui, But for the three great epochs of the day, The happy hours of Breakfast --- Dinner --- Tea? All then inhale fresh spirits and new life; E'en churls look pleasant; wealth forgets its pride; The fiercest disputants forego their strife; Segars and Politics are thrown aside. Yet, when we have no higher end and aim Than pleasure, for the moment, as it flies, It soon gives way to feelings cold and tame, And, while we grasp it, languishes and dies. One who pursues the same unvarying round Of dinners, concerts, billiards, drives and dances, Is like a squirrel cag'd, who, though he bound, And whirl about his wheel, yet ne'er advances. In all his children's pastimes Henry shar'd; For, to repress young spirits, he thought wrong; But, little, in his very heart, he car'd For what engag'd the pleasure-hunting throng. And o'er the young folk too the thought would steal, That e'en to waltz at night, at noon to roam, To drink the waters, taste the hurried meal, Were not the the pure delights of their dear home. The sounds of strife or wassail, in the night, Or of departing guests, at dawn of day, Would fill the boys with wrath, the girls with fright; And ofttimes chase their rest and sleep away. At meals, some noisy pack their peace would mar; Who deem'd it to gentility a stain, Though half-seas-o'er with brandy at the bar, To call for other bev'rage than champaign. But swift, away, away, the hours they flew; Those winged hours that go so strangely fast When unaccustom'd objects meet the view; Yet seem of such unwonted length, when past. When favoring skies and sunbeams cheer'd the day, The mansion's inmates scatter'd far and wide, The lakes to view, or in the fields to stray, To hunt, to fish, to visit, drive, or ride. Our party made the usual tour of jaunts. They climb'd the hills, to view the vales below. They sought for rude uncultivated haunts; Or stray'd among the woods where wild flowers grow. The wonted casualties that travellers meet Would cause perplexity, or fears excite; A drunken driver tottering in his seat; A sudden break-down, or way lost at night. But when they came back safe and well at last, And, after toil, enjoy'd refreshing rest, They felt that all the troubles they had past Gave to their pleasures still a keener zest. 'Twere wearisome of all the scenes to tell That caus'd enraptur'd feelings to awake. But we may venture, for a while, to dwell Upon the beauties of that lovely lake Whose pure wave drinks so deep heav'n's holy light, It seems a sacred character to claim; And from religion's sacramental rite, In days now long gone by, deriv'd its name. It seems call'd forth by magic to the eye, With countless verdant islets scatter'd o'er; Its hills contrasting with the azure sky, And rising all romantic from the shore. While speechless pleasure in their faces beam'd, Kate and her sisters, from the winged boat, Would in the crystal dip their hands, that seem'd Like water-lilies on the wave to float. When pelting rain or tempest threat'ning round Enforc'd th' unwilling guests at home to stay, They sought whate'er expedients could be found To cheat the time and haste the weary day. Recourse was had to writing or to books; To walking, lounging, singing, whistling, humming; To billiards and backgammon, rings and hooks; On hoarse pianos to incessant thrumming. On such a day as this, a lively lass Was playing songs and waltzes, and odd ends Of fav'rite melodies, the time to pass, Surrounded by a knot of sportive friends. While playful mischief lurk'd in ev'ry eye, With many a laugh or titter half supprest, They slyly watch'd the figures passing by, And look'd and whisper'd many a merry jest. A stranger, of a quiet modest air, Walked slowly round, or at a distance sat. For him, no more did our gay party care Than for a purring, chimney-corner cat. Amid the medley, suddenly his ear Perceiv'd, the notes of an uncommon strain. He rose, and quietly approaching near, Petition'd gently for the air again. The player, courteously the strain renew'd, Which she, from foreign voice, had learn'd by rote. He, as she play'd it o'er, the theme pursued, And prick'd it in his tablets, note for note; Then, at the instrument he took his seat, And play'd the melody with graceful turn, And taste so pure, and harmony so sweet, As made th' astonish'd nymphs with blushes burn. Charm'd by the pow'r of music's touching art, With looks how chang'd the stranger now they view! And him it well behoov'd to guard his heart, Lest mischief-loving eyes should pierce it through. They're of a compound strange, these fair young creatures; Though made up, as 'twould seem, of fun and mirth, And apes of fickle fashion's wildest features, They can excel, when tried, in moral strength and worth. They're like the plaything children call a Witch; Made of a weight attach'd to somewhat light. Howe'er you twist or twirl it, toss or twitch, It has a saving power that brings it right.