File:The pictorial sketch-book of Pennsylvania - or, its scenery, internal improvements, resources, and agriculture, popularly described (1853) (14796560683).jpg

Identifier: pictorialsketchb01bowe (find matches)
Title: The pictorial sketch-book of Pennsylvania : or, its scenery, internal improvements, resources, and agriculture, popularly described
Year: 1853 (1850s)
Authors: Bowen, Eli, b. 1824
Subjects: Mines and mineral resources
Publisher: Philadelphia : W. Bromwell
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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king, they have an inexhaustible fundof humor and forest-adventure, which does much to smooth downtheir exterior roughness. In the fall of the year they repair to thedepths of the forest, and commence the preliminaries of the wintercampaign. Wide around their woodland quarters Sad-voiced autumn grieves;Thickly down the swelling waters Float his fallen leaves;Through the tall and naked timber, Column-like and old,Gleam the sunsets of November With their skies of gold. As soon as the timber district to be cleared is fixed upon, the wood-men commence operations, and one after the other fall the statelyinhabitants of the forest—leaving behind, as monuments of their pastglory, their bright stumps gleaming through the dismembered branches.The ox-teams are busy tugging off the saw-logs, and the saw-mill hardby tears savagely through their woody fibres. Be it starlight—be it moonlight* In these vales below,When the earliest beams of sunlight Streaks the mountains snow, * John G. Whittier.
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< THE LUMBER REGION. 165 Crisps the hoar frost keen and early To our hurrying feet,And the forest echoes clearly All our blows repeat * -x- # * * * Make we here our camp of winter, And through sleet and snow,Pitch-knot and beechen splinter, On our hearth shall glow;Here, with mirth to lighten duty, Wt shall lack alone,Woman, with her smile of beauty, And her gentle tone.But her hearth is brighter burning For our work to-day,And her welcome at returning Shall our loss repay.Strike, then, comrades ! Trade is waiting On our rugged toil,For ships are waiting for the freighting Of our woodland spoil!Cheerily on the axe of labor Let the sunbeam dance,Better than the flash of sabre, Or the gleam of lance !Strike ! With every blow is given Freer sun and sky,And the long-hid earth to heaven Looks with wondering eye.Loud behind us grow the murmurs Of the age to come !Clang of smiths and tread of farmers Bearing harvest-home!Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill—Wavi

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