1970.
A V I S I O N
OF
BY
JOHN COLLINS.
——
BURLINGTON, N. J.
——
1870.
WAS musing alone one hot afternoon,In the shade of a vine on a bright day in June;
Not a sound in the air but the hum of the bees,
Nor a zephyr to sway the tops of the trees;
The cricket seemed tired of the shrill noise he made,
The butterfly folded his wings in the shade,
The flowers, so fragrant when day had begun,
No longer breathed perfume before the fierce sun:
O’er nature a dull sleepy silence had grown,
And even the clouds seemed moveless as stone.
Reclined in a chair, with my face towards the sky,
The tall posts of the telegraph thought-road near by,
I fancied I heard every word sent along,
The short business message—the tale of some wrong,
An accident, not on the Jersey railway,
The prices of stocks—events of the day,
The lover’s popped question, brief, pithy and sweet,
The assent of his charmer, his wishes to meet,
A summons to haste to the bed of a friend,
Whose life’s flickering taper drew near to its end,
An invite to a wedding, a lecture or ball,
A county convention—a lyceum hall;
Like leaves by the wild winter wind swept along,
They came and they passed in a vast countless throng,
And I watched and I listened with eager desire
To find out what passed through the quick thrilling wire.
The date I was sure of—again and again.{4}
It was “nineteen hundred and threescore and ten.”
Came the first to a merchant of rank in Japan,
Saying “Forward those teas as soon as you can.”
In two minutes returned, “I will do as you say,
But send me the Bibles you promised to-day.”
“Buy for me,” said a lady in Boston, in haste,
To a dear Cuban friend, “(I trust to your taste);
A barrel of oranges, fresh from the tree,
A dozen pine-apples, the fairest you see,
...