Once
upon a time, aye, many moon ago,
On
the banks of Salmon River, high above the water’s flow,
There
dwelt a bard of nature, with hoary hair and long,
Who
sat before his cabin door composing scraps of song.
No
pen or paper e’er was used, no publisher he knew;
He
sang his lyrics to the trees which round about him grew.
And
bird from oak and chestnut bough joined in the glad refrain,
Thus
day by day in roundelay he lived in youth again.
Bold
raftmen floating with the tide oft heard the mellow notes,
And
marveled at their sweetness as they strode their log-like boats.
But
they were superstitious folk and never ventured near;
“‘Tis
some enchantment,” so they said, with old-time doubt and fear.
One
day in spring-time when the snow was melting from the hills,
And
Salmon River swept along, fed on by brooks and rills,
The
raftmen listed as they passed, but all was silent now;
No
gladsome strain of melody burst forth from Mt. Tom’s brow.
Days
lengthened into weeks before they ventured up the height,
And
there they found a rude log hut quite hidden out of sight.
The
room was full of oddities while in the corner lay
A
heap of bones which went to show the bard had passed away.
On
bits of wood and ill made leaves life-work was inscribed,
But
rude was his chirography and so with him it died.
Much
went to show that he had dwelt with red men moons ago,
But
who he was or whence he came the past alone can know.
Feb,
13, ‘91
Pub.
in Conn. Valley Ad.
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