GRACE ADAM was a farmer's daughter, Her youth in the far west was spent, Where Mississippi's mighty water Rolls like a flood that will have vent.
She was a blooming country maiden, Like those one sees in market towns, With egg and butter baskets laden, Dressed in their smartest hats and gowns.
In household work and dairy labours Her time passed pleasantly away, A pattern she to all the neighbours, Healthy and cheerful as the day.
Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter,-- Some share of beauty she could boast, And lovers, near and far off, sought her, Each striving who could flatter most.
From 'mong them all her heart selected One gentle youth who seemed sincere, He was by every one respected, And more it needs not saying here.
Within an outfield stood an only Old beech-tree, lightning-smote, and dead,-- Its branches bare, and bleached, and lonely, An eagle built its nest amid.
Forsook the mountain's summit hoary, The beetling cliff above the sea, Sought not the forests of Missouri, But sheltered on this shattered tree.
And oft to see this noble creature, Many there came from parts thereby, Training its young, as is its nature, To spread their wings and upward fly.
Among the rest a student, rambling In woods and meadows, also came, In search of useful knowledge scrambling, Wherever he could find the same.
Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter,-- Her father had approved her choice; For duty and her feelings taught her 'Twere best to have her parents' voice.
Oft as the summer sunset glowing Came down in splendour o'er the west, The lovers forth together going, Would wander to the eagle's nest.
And there in courtship sweet and prudent The happy hours fast slipt away;-- And often there, too, came the student, To watch the birds at close of day.
And so they soon became acquainted, He knew they were betrothed before; But while their future bliss _they_ painted, _His_ object still was to explore.
The marriage-day, longed for yet dreaded By maidens fair, at last came round, Grace Adam and her love were wedded, With hope and every blessing crowned.
Their home was in a distant city Far, far from where her youth was spent, Where Mississippi's water mighty Pours like a flood that will have vent.
And never more the lordly river, Or its green banks, was Grace to see, The dear-loved farm, no more, and never The lonely shattered eagle's tree.