42. DEATH OF ELIZABETH.

The cabin home was bare and cold,

And the winter winds were howling,

When Elizabeth, all sick and old,

Died at night, alone in darkness.

Few the people on the hill-side,

As the years went rolling onward,

Yet, Elizabeth still lingered

In the ancient Chaugham cabin,

Saw the village growing smaller,

For the people were departing.

Saw deserted cabins falling,

And the growing desolation

On the side of Ragged Mountain.

Few the people in the village,

In the little Indian village,

Founded by her kindly parents,

In the year of seventeen forty.

Still this ancient mountain cabin

Sheltered Chaugham's lonely daughter.

For a hundred years this shelter

Stood against the storms of winter

And the sultry heat of summer.

For a hundred years this shelter

Stood beside the rolling Tunxis

And was viewed by many people.

Cold the cabin in the winter,

For the winds were whistling through it.

Damp the cabin in the summer,

For the roof let in the water,

And the ancient floor had settled,

Yet Elizabeth still lingered

In the shaky mountain cabin,

For she had no other shelter.

Calmly watching as the seasons,

Came and went across the hill-side,

Here Elizabeth resided,

Caring for the mountain cabin,

Since her parents had departed

To the Land of the Hereafter;

Daily mending, sewing, cooking,

On the side of Ragged Mountain,

‘ Till she reached the age of eighty —

Died in eighteen four and fifty,

Died at eighty, still unmarried,

Died alone at night in darkness,

When the winter wind was howling,

And was buried in the grave yard,

Southward in the lonely graveyard,

On the side of Ragged Mountain.