44. GONE THE CABINS FROM THE HILL-SIDE.
The tiger lilies blooming there
Sing of ancient habitation,
And lilacs’ fragrance on the air
Breathes a song of early settlers.
Gone the cabins from the hill-side,
Friendly lights no longer twinkle
Through the skins of fox and beaver.
“On the side of Ragged Mountain,
In some crevice of the ledges,
In some shady, sandy hollow,
Is an old sea captain's treasure.”
This a legend loudly whispers,
While the people tell the story —
Story of an old sea captain,
Spanish friend of Chaugham's father,
From the confines of Block Island.
Oft he came to visit Chaugham,
Loaded down with golden treasure,
Often staid a week and longer,
Talked of treasure ships and righting,
Ship to ship upon the billows.
Oft he came to visit Chaugham,
Loaded down with treasure,
But departed empty handed.
Through the years the treasure hunters
Search the side of Ragged Mountain,
Near the site of Chaugham's cabin,
For the old sea captain's money.
All the hill-side and the graveyard
Have been spaded and examined,
Searching for this fabled fortune,
In a pot of gold reported,
Buried on the lonely mountain.
Through the years the treasure hunters
Search the side of Ragged Mountain,
Searching, searching, never finding —
Still they're searching for the treasure,
Buried on the mountain-side.
O'er this wild romantic hill-side
Wildly blow the winds of winter,
Softly sigh the summer zephyrs;
Sad and lonely seems the forest,
Watching o'er the empty cellars.
On a boulder by the roadside,
Is a worn inscription telling
Briefly of the ancient village.
Ever flowing, winding southward,
Still the Tunxis River murmurs
Of the Light House on the hill-side
And the people of the village.
Standing there beside the river
Echoes of the past come floating,
On the sighing breezes floating,
Voices of the Light House people,
From the lonely mountain shadows,
Home of ageless Molly Barber.
Tiger lilies blossom yearly,
Near the shallow, empty cellars,
Here and there a lonely lilac
Flowers gaily in the spring time,
Sweet reminder of the people
Once residing in the village.
Here and there throughout the valley
People say, “The lilacs growing
Strong and hardy by my window
Are descendants of the lilacs
Growing in the Light House village,
Planted there by Molly Barber.”
Baskets fashioned on the hill-side
By the lonely Light House people
Still are cherished in the valley.
Thus the name of Molly Barber
Lives beyond her earthly journey
In neat handiwork and flowers.
Forest shades the lonely grave yard
Where within the dim enclosure
Over fifty dead are buried —
Many have no standing markers.
There the grave of Molly Barber,
Scarcely seen among the others,
Mute reminder of the quarrel
Of a maiden and her father;
All the harshness of his anger,
All the firmness of his daughter
And the sorrow of her mother —
Grim reminder to all fathers,
“Deal more wisely with your daughter.”