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THE REGISTER - April 14, 1904


The Mountain Trail.

A History of the Morden Road.

Over a mountain pass one day,
An exiled band made toilsome way;
Fleeing adown the mountain side;
To the far-famed flow of Fundy’s tide.

But the footprints vanished and left no trail,
Save a cross of wood and a bitter tale,
And the path thy trod was closed once more,
And solitude reigned upon the shore.

Years passed, and again a pioneer land
Of hardy woodmen sought the land;
And the trail was cleared by the sturdy men,
For the traffic of man and beast again.

And a nestling village slowly grew,
Where the patient oxen toiling drew
The fruits of the vale, and the soil’s good cheer,
O’er the mountain pass to the bay-shore pier.

And the great ships came for the valley’s yield;
And wealth was spread thus far afield;
And the trail became a great highway,
Wedding the Valley to the Bay.

Years passed, and the traffic had mighty grown,
When up through the valley steel rails were thrown;
And the iron horse with the oxen strove,
And bid for the traffic on which they throve.

And the broad smooth trail grew rough indeed
As the victory lay with the iron steed;
And the lines of teams no more were seen
On the downward swing to the village green.

As the diver dies when the air-tubes fail,
So the village dies with the fading trail,
And its strength like the waters ebbed away,
And left it to certain and sure decay.

No spot so bright, no spot so fair,
But alas! When the soul hath vanished there,
No yearning cry of fond love can save
The soulless clay from the silent grave.

And over the waning trail today,
Scarce cares the traveller to pick his way;
For the rocky road leads to a shore,
Where solitude * reigns again once more.


* Comparative.