45. HALLOWED IS THE LONELY GRAVEYARD.

A hush is on the mountain side —

Silent is the lonely grave yard.

Asleep the Indian and his bride-

Molly Barber — Honest Chaugham.

Now afar beyond the valley,

In a world of toil and pleasure,

In a world of joy and sorrow,

Last of all he told more slowly

All the story of the graveyard,

Many people proudly boasting,

Say,‘'The blood of Molly Barber

And her spouse, the Honest Chaugham,

From the Narragansett nation,

And the Spanish Senorita

Daily courses through my being.”

Hallowed are the Light House cabins,

Once on Ragged Mountain,

In the lonely Peoples’ Forest

By the river in Barkhamsted.

Hallowed is the lonely grave yard

With its palisade and headstones,

Though they're crude and nameless markers,

And the name of Molly Barber,

With her spouse, the Honest Chaugham,

Known afar in song and story.

Generations yet unborn,

Oft shall listen to the story

Of the famous Light House village,

Home of ageless Molly Barber,

By the Tunxis in Barkhamsted.

Oft they'll meet the Light House children,

As they journey through the ages,

To the final Armageddon

When the age of man is ended

And the clock of time is broken.