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Poems (Osgood)/New England's Mountain Child

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4445293Poems — New England's Mountain ChildFrances Sargent Osgood

NEW ENGLAND'S MOUNTAIN-CHILD.
Where foams the fall—a tameless storm— Through Nature's wild and rich arcade, Which forest-trees entwining form, There trips the Mountain-maid!
She binds not her luxuriant hair With dazzling gem or costly plume, But gayly wreathes a rose-bud there, To match her maiden-bloom.
She clasps no golden zone of pride Her fair and simple robe around; By flowing riband, lightly tied, Its graceful folds are bound.
And thus attired,—a sportive thing, Pure, loving, guileless, bright, and wild,— Proud Fashion! match me in your ring, New England's Mountain-child!
She scorns to sell her rich, warm heart, For paltry gold, or haughty rank,— But gives her love, untaught by art, Confiding, free, and frank!
And once bestow'd,—no fortune-change That high and generous faith can alter; Through grief and pain—too pure to range— She will not fly or falter.
Her foot will bound as light and free In lowly hut as palace-hall; Her sunny smile as warm will be,— For Love to her is all!
Hast seen where in our woodland-gloom The rich Magnolia proudly smiled?— So brightly doth she bud and bloom, New England's Mountain-child!