Song of the Chopper. Illustrated Poem

Song of the Chopper [Note: These verses are respectfully dedicated to my father, Orrin J. Merrill who, in his younger days, was a first-class chopper, and who by his wonderful tales of the woods implanted in my heart a love for these our mountains. — H. R. M.] Chip, chop, chip, chop — The echoes fly along, The chips fly thick about my head, My blows are true and strong; My ax is keen, my helve is tough, I swing it wide and free. Chip, chop, chip, chop, Rings forth the symphony. Chip, chop, chip, chop — The kerf is smooth and white. The gum drops glisten in the sun Like lobes of purest light; The heart is reached, the proud tree quakes, The chips are moist and brown. Chip, chop, chip, choo. The monarch crashes down. Chip, chop, chip, chop, From dawn till shadows fall, And owls from crag < r wooded height Send forth their mournful call; I swing my ax with heart as light As mortal man's could be, — Chip, chop, chip, chop, Beats out the melody. Chip, choo, chip, chop — When night her robes has spread, And fairy dreams or visions bright Crowd round my mountain bed. I hear the sound, the echoes, too, The woodland glance along. — ■ Chip, chop, chip, chop, The hills return the song. • . ' Harrison R. Merrill. PRESTON, IDAHO. T