Moodus

Moodus with its quaint old name

For many years has edged to fame;

Its low cut vale and stretch of hill

Is much admired by tourists still.

“In olden times,” our grandpa’s said,

“The folks wus shook nigh out o’ bed

By ‘Moodus Noises’.” But now-a days

The trembling earth in silence lays.

Although it lies so far inland,

Industry smiles on every hand.

The cotton plants run over-time,

To meet demands for duck and twine.

The wide piazzas at the hotels

Are full of summer guests and swells.

A coach-and-six, four times a day

Starts the travelers on their way.

A mass of people daily pours

To and from the grocery stores.

With barber-shops and billiard halls

Ice cream saloons and livery stalls,

Machine and tin-shops running late,

And steam print done while you wait.

A trotting park where congregates

The young and old with eager stakes.

The opera house that used to be

Is now the house of Remedy.

Certain nights the people hark

To symphonic concerts in the park.

Every member an artist born

From piccolo to tuba horn.

A famed old drum corps long has been

The pride of every citizen.

Then fare you well, my native town,

Our prayers are all for thy renown.

July 13, ‘90
Pub. in Ad.

This is dated at July, 13 1890 in what looks (by the nature of the script as well as crossed out poems) to be the original collection. The ascribed date is August 22, 1890 in the bound, but still handwritten volume.