Gungawamp

Yew never heerd o’ Gungawamp? Thet’s mighty strange, I vow,

S’posed everybody on the earth knew all about it now.

A place of sech importance orter hev ez much renown

Ez London or Chicago or New York an’ Boston town.

An’ yew kin find it n the map, an’ find it easy, too;

It ain’t no wayback, lonesome place ez I can prove to you.

It’s modern an’ it’s prosperous, an’ full uv busy folks

Who read an’ go to theaters, an’ know the latest jokes.

A river rambles through the town, a stream of goodly size;

A merry, modest, meller brook, a gleamin’ paradise;

It bears the name of Lizzard Crick, an’ winds an’ frolics down,

An’ it’s a grace an’ ornament unto its native town.

I’ve fished from off its shady banks for shiners thro’ the day,

An’ fished for bullhead in thee night, an’ know jest where they lay.

I’ve swum in every pond from Bashan to Johnsonville,

An’ skated up an’ down the same when winter winds blew chill.

O Gungawamp is fair to see, a stretch of rollin’ hills

Where oak an’ chestnut branches spread above a hundred rills;

Where medders stretch for miles away to meet the woodland fair,

Where larks an’ thrushes fill with songs the lazy summer air.

Where rabbits scamper threw the wood an’ squirrels ha’nt the trees,

An’ cheery “Bob White” comes acrost the ‘arly mornin’ breeze;

Where bullfrogs from the drowsy bog make low an’ plaintive calls,

An’ snakes crawl off to sun themselves upon the tangled walls.

The ol’ schoolhouse is standin’ now upon the village green,

With church an’ farmhouse handy by, a soul inspirin’ scene;

The bell is rung, an’ songs are sung the same ez used to be,

An’ pants are dusted jest the same acrost the master’s knee!

The village stores are jest the same, a paradise for boys,

With j’inted poles an’ balls an’ bats, an’ carts an’ painted toys;

An’ jest the same “ol’ boys” are there with argerment an’ tale,

A’holdin’ down a keg of nails while waitin’ for the mail.

All day beside the ramblin’ stream the mills are hummin’ still,

While now an’ then a snatch of song floats from the winder still;

An’ suckers swarm up “Johnson’s Brook” ‘long in the ‘arly spring,

An’ every boy for miles around hez all that he can string.

An’ on a peaceful summer’s night when everything is still

I daresay there’s a dozen boys creep over dale an’ hill

To where some farmer’s melon patch lies ha’f concealed from view

To do that awful, awful thing my schoolmates used to do.

O Gungawamp is fair to see, an’ everything is there

To make life sweet, an’ that is all you’ll find most anywhere;

It’s famous an’ it’s prosperous, an’ healthy an’ content

An’ picturesque ez any place upon this continent.

An’ when I die I want to rest ‘neath Gungawamp’s fair shade,

Off in some quiet corner in a yard which Natur’ made;

No artificial stone or sod, but jest a line to say

“He loved his native Gungawamp until his dayin’ day.”

June 23, 1900

(While Gungawamp is a fictional location, Mr. Cone grew up in the village of Moodus within the town of East Haddam, Connecticut. Bashan Lake and Johnsonville are actual places in that town. “Lizzard Crick” could refer to the Salmon or Moodus River – or both. The alternative spelling of ‘Gungywamp’ seems to have coincided with his later move to the nearby town of Old Saybrook. Jones’s Store (existed in Moodus) was replaced by Stokes’ Store (actually existed in Old Saybrook). Some characters moved along with him…)