E-text prepared by Bethanne M. Simms, Sankar Viswanathan,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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TALES OF THE CHESAPEAKE
BY
GEO. ALFRED TOWNSEND
"GATH."
A fruity smell is in the school-house lane;The clover bees are sick with evening heats;A few old houses from the window-paneFling back the flame of sunset, and there beatsThe throb of oars from basking oyster fleets,And clangorous music of the oyster tongsPlunged down in deep bivalvulous retreats,And sound of seine drawn home with negro songs.
NEW YORK:
AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,
39 AND 41 Chambers Street.
1880.
Copyright, 1880,
Geo. Alfred Townsend.
TO MY FATHER,
REV. STEPHEN TOWNSEND, M.D., PH.D.,
WHOSE ANCESTORS EXPLORED THE CHESAPEAKE BAY IN 1623,
AND WERE SETTLED ON THE POCOMOKE RIVER ALMOST
TWO HUNDRED YEARS, NEAR HIS BIRTHPLACE;
WITH
THE AFFECTION OF
HIS ONLY SURVIVING SON.
Of the following pieces, two, "Kidnapped," and "Dominion over theFish," have been published in Chambers's Journal, London. The poem"Herman of Bohemia Manor" is new. All the compositions illustrate thesame general locality.
INTRODUCTION.
MOTHERNOOK.
THE EASTERN SHORE OF MARYLAND.
One day, worn out with head and pen,
And the debate of public men,
I said aloud, "Oh! if there were
Some place to make me young awhile,
I would go there, I would go there,
And if it were a many a mile!"
Then something cried—perhaps my map,
That not in vain I oft invoke—
"Go seek again your mother's lap,
The dear old soil that gave you sap,
And see the land of Pocomoke!"
And the debate of public men,
I said aloud, "Oh! if there were
Some place to make me young awhile,
I would go there, I would go there,
And if it were a many a mile!"
Then something cried—perhaps my map,
That not in vain I oft invoke—
"Go seek again your mother's lap,
The dear old soil that gave you sap,
And see the land of Pocomoke!"
A sense of shame that never yet
My foot on that old shore was set,
Though prodigal in wandering,
Arose; and with a tingled cheek,
Like some late wild duck on the wing,
I started down the Chesapeake.
The morning sunlight, silvery calm,
From basking shores of woodland broke,
And capes and inlets breathing balm,
And lovely islands clothed in palm,
Closed round the sound of Pocomoke.
[6]
My foot on that old shore was set,
Though prodigal in wandering,
Arose; and with a tingled cheek,
Like some late wild duck on the wing,
I started down the Chesapeake.
The morning sunlight, silvery calm,
From basking shores of woodland broke,
And capes and inlets breathing balm,
And lovely islands clothed in palm,
Closed round the sound of Pocomoke.
[6]
The pungy boats at anchor swing,
The l
The l
...