When first I settled in the woods
There were no neighbors nigh,
And scarce a living thing, save wolves,
And Molly dear, and I.
We had our troubles, ne'er a doubt,
In those wild woods alone;
But then, sir, I was bound to have
A homestead of my own.

This was my chosen field of strife,
The forest was my foe,
And here I fought, I plann'd, I wrought,
To lay the giants low.
I toil'd in hope, got in a crop,
And Molly watch'd the cattle;
To keep those “breachy” steers away
She'd many a weary battle.

The “devil's dears” were those two steers!
Ah! they were born fence-breakers,
That sneak'd all day and watched their prey,
Like any salt-sea wreckers.
And gradually, as day by day
The grain grew golden yellow,
My heart and hope grew with that crop,
I was a happy fellow.

That crop would set me on my feet,
And I'd have done with care;
I built away the live-long day
Such “castles in the air.”
I'd beaten poverty at last,
And, like a little boy
When he has got his first new coat,
I fairly leapt for joy.

I blush to think upon it yet
That I was such a fool,
But young folks must learn wisdom, sir,
In old Misfortune's school.
One fatal night I thought the wind
Gave some unwonted sighs;
Down through the swamp I heard a tramp,
Which took me by surprise.

Is this an earthquake drawing near?
The forest moans and shivers;
And then I thought that I could hear
The rushing of great rivers.
And while I look'd and listen'd there,
A herd of deer swept by—
As from a close pursuing foe
They madly seem'd to fly.

But still those sounds, in long, deep bounds,
Like warning heralds came,
And then I saw, with fear and awe,
The heav'ns were all aflame.
I knew the woods must be on fire—
I trembl'd for my crop
As I stood there in mute despair—
It seem'd the death of hope.

On, on it came, a sea of flame,
In long, deep rolls of thunder,
And drawing near, it seem'd to tear
The heav'ns and earth asunder.
How those waves snored, and raged, and roared,
And reared in wild commotion!
On, on they came, like steeds of flame
Upon a burning ocean.

How they did snort in fiendish sport
As at the great elms dashing!
And how they tore 'mong hemlocks hoar,
And through the pines went crashing!
While serpents wound the trunks around,
Their eyes like demons' gleaming,
And wrapt like thongs around the prongs,
And to the crests went screaming.

Ah! how they swept, and madly leapt
From shrieking spire to spire,
'Mid hissing hail, and in their trail
A roaring lake of fire!
Anon some whirlwind all aflame
Growl'd in the ocean under,
Then up would reel a fiery wheel,
And belch forth smoke and thunder.

And it was all that we could do
To save ourselves by flight,
As from its track we madly flew—
Oh, 'twas an awful night!
When all was past, I stood aghast,
My crop and shanty gone,
And blacken'd trunks, 'mid smouldering chunks,
Like spectres looking on.

A host of skeletons they seem'd
Amid the twilight dim,
All standing there in black despair,
With faces gaunt and grim.
And I stood there, a spectre, too;
A ruin'd man was I,
With nothing left—what could I do
But sit me down and cry?

A heavy heart indeed was mine,
For I was ruin'd wholly;
And I gave way that crushing day
To moping melancholy.
I'd lost my all in field and stall,
And nevermore would thrive;
All, save those steers—the “devil's dears”
Had saved themselves alive!

Nor would I have a farm to-day
Had it not been for Molly;
She cheer'd me up, and charm'd away
My wretched melancholy.
She schemed and plann'd to keep the land,
And cultivate it, too,
So on I moil'd, and strain'd, and toil'd,
And fought the battle through.

Yes, Molly play'd her part full well;
She's plucky, every inch, sir;
It seem'd to me the Deil himsel'
Could not make Molly flinch, sir.
We wrought and fought, until our star
Got into the ascendant:
At troubles past we smile at last,
And now we're independent.