Poetry & LinesThe St. John River
It flows in majestic beauty
Through forest, field and town,
For more than four hundred miles
From Maine to the city of St. John.
In its crystal waters clear
The speckled beauty lurks;
Shad and salmon do abound
Also pickeral, chub and perch.
Along its wooded banks
Great trees are centuries old,
Oak, butternut and elms great
Such scenes the memory hold.
Among the trees the roses bloom;
The grapes in clusters grow;
Grand scenes of nature; thus
God's handiwork to show.
On the flats fair lilies grow;
Their fragrance fill the air;
In nature's beauty grand and true,
With us no river can compare.
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
ARGYLE
Argyle is a thriving place,
Now if you don't think this is true
Just come and investigate
And look the whole thing through.
Ball has a lath mill booming,
Which employs a lot of folks,
Besides a saw and grist mill
Which I assure you is no hoax.
Then there is Grant the peddler;
He is doing a big business we find,
He carries dry goods and hardware,
And groceries of every kind.
We have two blacksmith shops,
And a big white house besides
Where Ball, Hughes and Wilson
Work from morn till even'tide.
Our meetings are largely attended,
Both Methodist and Baptist ones too
And if you are not a church goer
It is something you always shall rue.
Our day school is sort of central
As it is improving each year;
R C has charge of the whole,
And is doing it nicely we hear.
The people are going to build
An Asylum at the corner they say,
So if you have any money to spare
Just hand it over this way.
We have one piano in the place
And telephones who knows,
The latter is kept busy
Especially the one over to Joe's.
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
Ode to Meductic Flat
The grass is gently waving
Around that historic spot
Where white men and the Indians
In the early days have fought.
Some lie just where they fell,
Buried amid their savage foes,
To await the great reward
That our Father God bestows.
The place where they are buried
Was not far from the fort.
Where the mighty chieftain Peter Bear
Resided with his savage court.
His warriors most savage of the land,
Most cruely they have shed
Innocent blood around the place,
Just as our ancestors said.
Now they have passed from earth,
The place knows than no more,
Young or old may peacefully stroll
And the battle field view o'er.
H L Porter
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
In Memoriam
In memory of Mr. Stillman Stairs,
drowned at the Meduxnakik Dam on July 16, 1907.
There is sorrow deep and awful
In the home of joy to-day,
And a quiet town now echoes
With a cry of dread dismay.
There is a hush of stillness
In that land of the dead,
Broken only by the weeping
Of the mourners restless head.
What is this dreadful sorrow,
This deep hush of bitter woe
That has changed the joy and pleasure
Reigning scarce an hour ago.
In the morning young men's voices
Filled the home with songs of glee,
And all of them seemed happy
As the hours passed pleasantly.
No sound of dark foreboding
Broke any though of fear
Amidst this scene of brightness,
Thought of any sorrow near.
In this bright and loving picture
Lending earth a welcoming hand,
Only seen midst the beauty
Of our Canadian land.
All the summer sunshine
Sheds her glory on the scene,
And a brightness as though sorrow
Dare not to intervene.
And beside the glistening waters
Stands two forms young and gay
Viewing the scene before them
And one was swept away.
As he struggled in its current
Taken in its lovely spray,
The waters being swifter bore him
From the shore away.
How dear are all life's pleasures
To the heart so young and gay;
How little he was thinking,
Earth's joys must end to-day.
His brother stands and sees him
Battling death on every side,
And his noble heart still sinking
Into the sweeping tide.
Below the dam he struggles
To make the shore below
And to his sad misfortune
Went in the under tow.
Who views that grief and sorrow,
Its anguish loss and dread
In the home where each is weeping,
O're their loved and silent dead.
There is to the stricken parents
Kiss their darling's youthful brow
Death so soon had changed it
In quiet stillness now.
Cold in death no more to greet them
Lost into the flowing tide
He the night before was beaming
Happy by their side.
His father bent in anguish
Likewise a mother dear,
Three brothers and one sister,
Stand wiping out a tear.
L. E. Hickey
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
Life's End
Published at the request of George W Lawson of South Knowlesville at the instance of the death of his beloved wife, Orpha M, whose sudden demise occurred on March 1st. 1907
The opening line of the poem being the last words she uttered.
Raise my pillow, husband, dearest-
Faint and fainter comes by breath,
And these shadows stealing slowly,
Must I know be those of death.
Sit down close beside me darling,
Let me clasp your warm strong hand
Yours that ever sustained me
To the borders of this land.
For your God and mine,-our Father,
Thence shall ever lead me on,
Where, upon a throne eternal,
Sits his own and only son,
I've had visions and been dreaming
O'er the past joy and pain
Year by year, I've wandered backward
Till I was a child again.
Dreams of girlhood and the moment
When I stood your wife and bride
How my heart thrilled with love's triumph
In that hour of woman's pride.
Dreamed of these and all the earth cords
Firmly twined around my heart,
Oh the bitter burning anguish
When I new that we must part.
It has passed and God has promised
All the footsteps to attend,
He that's more than friend or brother
Will be with thee till the end.
There's no shadows o'er the portal
Leading to my heavenly home,
Christ has promised life immortal
And 'tis he that bids me come.
When life's trials wait around thee
And its climbing billows swell
Thou'll thank heaven that I'm spared them
Thou'lt then feel that "all is well"
bring our children unto my bedside
My last blessing let them keep;
But they're sleeping-do not wake them-
They'll learn soon enough to weep.
Tell them often of their mother,
Kiss them for me went they wake,
Lead them gently in God's pathway
Love them doubly for my sake.
Fare thee well, my noble husband
Faint not neath this chastening rod
Throw your strong arm round our children
Keep them close to thee and God.
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
May
(St John Monitor)
What charms is in thy name, sweet May,
What magic is thy voice,
That when thine airy step we hear,
A whisper goes, "Rejoice."
Flowers, indeed, all beautiful
But humble, lowly, sweet,
As is the violet when it wakes,
The morning sun to greet.
Thy path is full of earthly flowers,
Thy chariot, the breeze,
Thy dress, the freshest, palest green,
That robes the wakening trees.
Thy hair the golden sunlight shames,
Thine eyes, the blue above;
Thy voice subdues the sullen blast
And moves all earth to love.
Yea, thou art beyond compare,
So men and angels say
When they call on our Lady dear,
As "Mary, Queen of May."
Mary Louise McManus, Woodstock.
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
MAPLEHURST
There is a place in our town;
Its name it is Hogs Valley;
The people there are very smart;
And keep the road just shining.
They snow-plow them just twice a day
From William's to the corner
And then the rest of it can go
Just any way it wants to.
Next comes the place named Butterhill,
And old King Cole lives there
He is one of the jolliest fellows that
ever you did see,
For you could tell him by his looks.
He wears the big fur coat
And people say he has the best horses in our town.
Next comes the town of Grasshopper Corner,
The people there are not as smart as
they are in Hogs-Valley,
Or in Butterhill.
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
Skiff Lake Camp
Come all you jolly young men
And listen to my song.
And if you will attention pay
I'll not detain you to late.
It's all about Jack Aikens,
And his jolly lumbering crew,
At the head of Skiff Lake,
Where Dunbar put us through.
We have a jolly cook;
He is both stout and thrifty,
And if I'm not mistaken
His weight is two fifty.
We have a jolly teamster;
Charlie Greer by name;
He understands his business,
And handles well the rein.
Fred Gray is the boy
that tends the yard,
And when the the logs are handy
The teamster makes him card.
We have a jolly sled tender;
Tart Dickerson by name;
He is rather slow and lazy
But of course he's not to blame.
We have another sled tender;
Arnold is his name
They say he is a terror to-well,
He's wild and hard to tame.
Levi H is our singer;
He sings both night and day;
He is always gay and jolly
Go what will come what may.
Our singer makes sport for all of us
And like a circus clown
And if he doesn't stop it,
We'll have to tie him down.
There's Albert, Irvine and Levi,
Three choppers in our dive;
The number that they chop a day,
I think is seventy five.
As Christmas now is drawing near
I pray you all lend an ear,
As I am far away perhaps
I've said enough, I'll bid you all good day.
So to conclude and finish my song
I hope I offended none
For these few lines that I have penned
Were simply written to please a friend.
Skiff Lake, Dec 23, 1907.
(Found in the 1907 Press Newspaper)
Lines on the death of John Bunting
On the banks of Eel River.
On a cold November day
John Bunting lay down
To die and pray.
With a dog for a companion
The wind howling round
Beside a cedar stump
His body was found.
He roamed threw the woods
All day haunted by fears
But he was not a man
To shed woman's tears.
When he thought his home
He never more would see
Oh God how could such a thing be
With no one to see him die but thee,
In a churchyard lot
There is a vacant spot
In a little mound
The body of John Bunting may be found.
R B.
(Found in the Press Newspaper 1907)
On Contemplating the Carleton County Map of 1876
There are no Speers in Speerville now;
No Iveys live on Ivey Road.
At Farmerston, few farmers plough
The fields their forbears cleared and sowed.
At Briggs's Mill, there's Briggses still,
And Bellville yet has Bells.
But at Teed's Mill, no Teeds now mill
And the "Beatle" Brook knows no Bedells.
The Johns of Johnville long have left
Though Johnville still remains.
Of forest, Foreston is bereft,
While Debec Junction has no trains
At Jacksontown and Jacksonville
No Jacksons can be found.
But rocks are picked in Rockland still
And gathered up in many a mound.
Newburgh for sure's no longer new
And only a 'burgh' through courtesy.
Benton's lost its railway crew,
Its mill, its school, its will to be.
The elms which gave Elmwood its name
Are skeletons which wait to fall,
And who today has heard the fame
Of citizens once known to all?
At Ferryville, no ferries ply
Their river-crossing trade.
And who now mourns, who's left to cry
As knowledge wanes and memories fade?
At Red Bridge, a concrete span
Lies grey across the creek.
And brave are those who dare to plan
That legacy promised the meek.
Time wipes out the past's design
As fields return to brush and weed
Where Monument still marks the line,
Though few are left to heed.
But who knows what the future holds?
The possible in widest range...
As a new millennium unfolds,
The only certainty is change.
What time decayed, time can restore.
And on the maps descendants make
Communities may thrive once more:
So we must hope, for all our sake.
- George Peabody
Kirkland
December 1995© 1999 George Peabody
Posted here with Mr. G. Peabody's permission.
