[Whoever has attended a "sugaring off" in the woods will enjoy the
reading of this poem--the description is so life-like and
exhilarating. It is a home scene.]
Come let us away to the old Sugar Camp;
The sky is serene though the ground may be damp,--
And the little bright streams, as they frolic and run,
Turn a look full of thanks to the ice-melting sun;
While the warm southern winds, wherever they go,
Leave patches of brown 'mid the glittering snow.
The oxen are ready, and Carlo and Tray
Are watching us, ready to be on the way,
While a group of gay children, with platter and spoon,
And faces as bright as the roses of June,
O'er fences and ditches exultingly spring,
Light-hearted and careless as birds on the wing.
Where's Edwin? Oh, here he comes, loading his gun;
Look out for the partridges--hush! there is one!
Poor victim! a bang, and a flutter--'tis o'er,--
And those fair dappled wings shall expand nevermore;
It was shot for our invalid sister at home,
Yet we sigh as beneath the tall branches we roam.
Our cheeks all aglow with the long morning tramp,
We soon come in sight of the old Sugar Camp;
The syrup already is placed in the pan,
And we gather around it as many as can,--
We try it on snow; when we find it is done
We fill up a mold for a dear absent one.
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