To Salmon River

Thou placid stream called Salmon River,

     Spreading thyself from hill to hill;

Tho’ by thee no longer we linger

     Thou hast sweet memories still.

While the dew of morn was yet clinging

     To thy numberless bordering leaves,

And the breath of morn was awakening

     Into a gently stirring breeze,

A sound was borne o’er thy bosom,

     A voice rose clear and strong

From the throat of a happy mortal

     In a joyful burst of song.

Thou ruffled stream called Salmon River,

     Tossing thyself from hill to hill;

Tho’ by thee no longer we linger,

     Thou hast sweet memories still.

While the cold winter wind was blowing

     And the trees were burdened with snow,

And we were lost in the reflection

     Of our dancing hearth-fire’s glow,

A sound was borne o’er thy bosom

     Telling of grief which lay

In a home on the bank of thy waters

     On that cold and wintry day.

Ere long grief likewise came again

     To a home on the opposite side.

A childless couple watch day by day

     The ebbing and flowing of thy tide.

c. June 1, 1890