stra, was the Great Wheel's tireless tenor,
Drowning the counter of the snapping reel, and the quill-wheels fitful
symphony,
Whose whirring strings, yielded to children's hands, prepare spools for
the shuttle.
At intervals, like a muffled drum, sounded the stroke of the loam,
Cumbrous, and filling a large space, with its quantity of timber,
Obedient only to a vigorous arm, which in ruling it grew more vigorous.
From its massy beam were unrolled, fabrics varied and substantial,
Linen for couch and table, and the lighter garniture of summer,
Frocks of a flaxen color for the laborer, or striped with blue for the
younglings;
Stout garments in which man bides the buffet of wintry elements.
From the rind of the stately butternut, drew they a brown complexion,
Or the cerulean borrowed from the tint of the southern indigo.
Thus rustic Industry girded itself, amid household music,
As History of old, set her fabulous legends to the harp.
Ears trained to the operas of Italy, would find discordance to be
mocked at,
But the patriot heard the ring of gold in the coffers of his country,
Not sent forth to bankruptcy, for the flowery silks of France;
While the listening christian caught the strong harmonies of a peaceful
Land,
Giving praise to Jehovah.
Lo! at the winter evening
In these uncarpeted dwellings, what a world of comfort!
Large hickory logs send a dancing flame up the ample chimney,
Tinging with ruddy gleam, every face around the broad hearth-stone.
King and patriarch, in the midst, sitteth the true-hearted farmer.
At his side, the wife with her needle, still quietly regardeth the
children.
Sheltered in her corner-nook, in the arm-chair, the post of honor,
Calm with the beauty of age, is the venerable grandmother.
Clustering around her, watching the stocking that she knits, are the
little ones,
Loving the stories that she tells of the days when she was a maiden,
Stories ever mix'd with lessons of a reverent piety.
Manna do they thus gather to feed on, when their hair is hoary.
Stretch'd before the fire, is the weary, rough-coated house-dog,
Winking his eyes, full of sleep, at the baby, seated on his shoulder,
Proudly watching his master's darling, and the pet of the family,
As hither and thither on its small feet it toddles unsteadily.

On the straight-back'd oaken settle, congregate the older children.
Work have they, or books, and sometimes the weekly newspaper,
Grey, on coarse,