4. Curtain of shifting seasons dropt on moor and meadow and hall, Open your random vistas of changes that come with time to all! Hugh grown up to manhood; foremost, searching the county through, Of the Monmouth youth, in birth and grace, and the strength to will and do. The father, past the prime of life, and his temples flecked with toil, A bookman still, and leaving to Hugh the care of stock and soil. Hendrick Van Ghelt, a bowed old man in a fireside-corner chair, Counting the porcelain Scripture tiles which frame the chimney there,— The shade of the stalwart gentleman the people used to know, Forgetful of half the present scenes, but mindful of long-ago; Aroused, mayhap, by growing murmurs of Southern feud, that came And woke anew in his fading eyes a spark of their ancient flame. 5. Gazing on such a group as this, folds of the curtain drop, Hiding the grandsire’s form; and the wheels of the sliding picture stop. Gone, that stout old Hendrick, at last! and from miles around they came,— Farmer, and squire, and whispering youths, recalling his manhood’s fame. Dead: and the Van Ghelt manor closed, and the homestead acres leased; For their owner had moved more near the town, where his daily tasks increased, Choosing a home on the blue Passaic, whence the Newark spires and lights Were seen, and over the salt sea-marsh the shadows of Bergen Heights. Back and forth from his city work, the lawyer, day by day, With the press of eager and toiling men, followed his wonted way; And Hugh,—he dallied with life at home, tending the garden and grounds; But the mansion longed for a woman’s voice to soften its lonely sounds. “Hugh,” said Hermann Van Ghelt, at length, “choose for yourself a wife, Comely, and good, and of birth to match the mother who gave you life. No words of woman have charmed my ear since last I heard her voice; And of fairest and proudest maids her son should make a worthy choice.” But now the young man’s wandering heart from the great world turned away, To long for the healthful Monmouth meads, the shores of the breezy bay; And often the scenes and mates he knew in boyhood he sought again, And roamed through the well-known woods, and lay in the grass where he once had lain. III. Ladies, in silks and laces, Lunching with lips agleam, Know you aught of the places Yielding such fruit and cream? South from your harbor-islands Glisten the Monmouth hills; There are the ocean highlands, Lowland meadows and rills, Berries in field and garden, Trees with their fruitage low, Maidens (asking your pardon) Handsome as cities show. Know you that, night and morning, A beautiful water-fay, Covered with strange adorning, Crosses your rippling bay? Her sides are white and sparkling; She whistles to the shore; Behind, her hair is darkling, And the waters part before.