49. NOW THE LIGHT HOUSE'S GONE FOREVER.

The changing seasons come and go

Swiftly through the ancient valley

And here where Tunxis waters flow

Ever shall this legend linger.

Still the Tunxis River wanders

Slowly through the gloomy forest.

Still the music of its water,

In the quiet days of summer,

Sings of peace and sweet contentment.

Gentle-flowing Tunxis River,

Tranquil in the sultry summer,

Quiet in the golden autumn,

Peaceful in the hoary winter,

Mighty in the early spring-time.

In the cold and dreary winters,

Snows lie deep upon the hill-side,

Scarce a sound to break the silence

O'er the lonely, empty cellars

And the graveyard in the forest.

Hardly changed the hill and valley

Since the day that Molly Barber,

With her spouse, the Honest Chaugham,

Made her home on Ragged Mountain.

Still the Indian pipes are blooming,

White and fragile in the spring-time,

Hiding in their leafy bowers

Midst the shadows of the forest.

Still the woodcock's busy tapping,

Tapping on the mighty oak trees,

O'er the pine-trees screaming,

Circling high above the mountain.

Still the sea-gulls scan the river,

Dipping low above the water,

Seeking shining fish for supper.

Still the great, blue herons linger,

Wading, fishing in the river,

Calling, calling through the twilight.

In the latter days of autumn,

“Who?”, the solemn owl is calling,

“Who is in the lonely valley?”

Oft when shades of night are creeping

Softly through the ancient valley,

Come the whip-poor-wills a calling

Each to each across the seasons.

Undisturbed they haunt the valley,

For the Light House's gone forever,

And the stage coach ceased its travels

On the turnpike by the river

Where the Light House Legend whispers,

“Molly Barber — Honest Chaugham.”

From the storied hills of Litchfield,

From the confines of Barkhamsted,

From the Vale of Winding Waters,

Through the world this legend wanders

From the parents to the children,

And from neighbour unto neighbour

By the spoken word and letter

O'er the plains and o'er the mountains,

O'er the rivers and the oceans,

Through the onward rolling seasons,

Toward the final Day of Judgment,

When the deeds of Peter Barber

And his wilful daughter, Molly,

Shall be weighed and justly measured

By the Ruler of the Ages.