And Destiny ransacks the city for a man

To do it; finding none therein, she turns

To the fecundity of Nature’s woods,

And there, beside some Western hill or stream,

She enters a rude cabin unannounced,

And ere the rough frontiersman from his toil,

Where all day long he hews the thickets down,

Returns at evening, she salutes his wife,

His fair young wife, and says, Behold! thou art

The Mother of the Future!