40. HENRY, OFTEN CALLED MANASSA.

And then the son of Mossock came,

Made his home in Colebrook River,

To spear the fish and hunt for game,

Fearing not the forest creatures.

After Molly's sad departure,

To the Land of the Hereafter,

Dwelt Elizabeth, unmarried,

And a couple village children,

Safely in the lonely Chaugham cabin,

On the side of Ragged Mountain.

As the years were rolling onward,

Few the children in the village,

Scattered were the Light House people,

Through the State, and through the nation,

Seeking other habitations.

In the year of eighteen forty,

South on Farmington's broad meadow,

Dwelt a wicked Tunxis Indian,

Henry, often called Manassa,

Son of Solomon, the Mossock,

From the realms of Satan's Kingdom,

Where the Tunxis cut a channel,

Southward through the granite mountain,

In the confines of New Hartford.

In the year of eighteen forty

Henry came to Chaugham's cabin,

On the side of Ragged Mountain,

Saw Elizabeth was busy,

Still he lingered at the doorway,

Telling of his many troubles,

Begging food and begging money,

Saying that he was related;

Wandered through the little village,

Speaking softly, acting kindly,

Hiding all his evil customs,

Seemed a decent sort of fellow.

Hinted marriage was his object,

But Elizabeth refused him,

So he went away to Colebrook,

Went to Colebrook by the River —

Lovely Colebrook where the forests

And the meadows swarmed with partridge,

Rabbit, quail and merry squirrel.

When the early Colebrook settlers

Built their cabins in the valley,

In the Colebrook River valley,

In the year of seventeen seventy,

Through the woodlands roamed the panther,

Looking downward from the branches,

Seeking unsuspecting quarry.

Shyly midst the gloomy shadows

Catamounts were ever hiding.

On the steep and rocky mountains,

Bordered on the river valley,

Bears were lurking midst the ledges.

Nightly through the winding valley,

Rang the howling of the wolf-pack,

Tracking deer along the meadows.

Pussy-footing through the woodlands,

Seeking mice and other rodents,

Were the wild cats, sleek and furry.

Here and there the busy beavers

Built their dams and cozy houses

On the river tributaries.

To this land of wild abundance

In the year of eighteen forty,

Came the wary son of Mossock,

Built his shack against a boulder

On the side of Corliss Mountain,

Fearing not the forest creatures,

Or the shadows in the night time,

Fearing not the bears and wild cats.

Sly and crafty was this Indian,

Sly and crafty like his father,

Double talking with his neighbors,

Hardy, early Colebrook settlers,

Busy in their little village,

Busy building shops and houses,

Building meeting house and school house,

Busy making cloth of cotton,

By the sparkling Colebrook River.

There the busy store and tavern,

Where the people spent their money.

On the turnpike through the village,

Daily rolled the heavy stage coach,

Mail and people coming, going

By the sparkling Colebrook River.

Union Church, no longer needed

For the Sunday prayer and sermon,

Soon became the village center

Where the people met for business,

Where the people met for pleasure.

All the school was filled with children,

Ninety children in the school house,

Happy Colebrook River children

Playing daily by the road side.

On each holy, Sabbath morning,

All the church was filled with people.

Friends and neighbors prayed together,

Asking God to bless their children,

Praying to God to bless their village

By the sparkling Colebrook River.