Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1871-05-22
To love each hilltop on whose magic height

Our rowing footsteps climbed with new delight,
Till our young hearts leaped up with brissfu bount
At all the pictured loneliness around;
To sigh for these dear scenes when forced away,
And homesick, pine thro' many weary day,
Returning often bag and baggage home,
When no one gave the kind permit to come?
Ay, call it weakness of q boyish heart;
II was yearning which would meier depart
With boyhood's years,-a fondness which woult
cling
In later life tho time and change might bring
Their winter chill and years of absence quell
The youthful ardor of It's powerful spell
A steadfast bond asserting its control,
true attachment anchored in the soul.
Come hither Musel nor longer stop to dream;
The hour is ftting-gather up your theme
And bear it onward to fitting close.
Let not your verse relapse to stOlid prose-
These modern times are different from the old;
Improvements come with innovations bold;
And skill and craft and industry have wrought
Strange revolutions which the sires neer thought
The manufacturer and the artisan,
The farmer, trader the professional man,
Have long ignored the odtime ways and arts,
And marvellous changes now in various parts
Have taken place and the fair town has grown
populous-indeed a wealthy town.
The village here, once called the Chandler Mills,
Tapped in the valley, fianked by ancient hills
On either hand, hath spead its borders wide,
And feels to-day almost city's pride.
The mill stream winding from the lake above
Is tasked full many a powerful wheel to move;
And the steam engine brings its force to bear.
Screaming its shrill note on the startled air.
What would the settlers Of the old time say
And see the progress of an hundred years,
And hear the shouts the paans and the cheers!
What would the veterans say How would they
gaze
Around in strange bewilderment and raise
Their trembling hands and voices in surprise,
Till tears of joy should mosten their dim eyes
Who the men who've helped build up the town.
And laid of late their earthly burdens down;
Whose generous hearts were with large love i'm
bued
Whose labors live, a legacy of good
Whose memory green Is fondly cherished here
Whose ashes sleep within the shurchyard near
They claim some mention at our hands to-day
We have Il debt OF gratitude to pay
Which this good town with all It's wealth and pride
Can poorly pay and ue'er can lay aside.
The white haired father,+ who meath yonder roof
Preached words of life, enforced with many Il
Who by example and by precept taught
And for long years in every good work wrought,
Did well his part for the dear town he loved
And closed lite of labor well approved.
Another too, who in a different sphere,
With kindly impulse, left his blessing here;
Der whose low grave the monumental stone
Was reared by grateful townsmcn, as to one,
A beneiactor genial, kind and good;
a man of culture generously imbued
W lth native gins OF intellect and heart
keen, quick mind, most liberal to impart
Its stores OF knowledge, brilliant too, with wit,
Whose ready shafts would like An arrow hit;
A master OF the pen, who If to-day
He walked with us would give his genius play
And bring to these festivities a cheer
Whose note should ring in every listening ear
Wen let him rest meath his memorial stone,
Here where his life spent and labor done
And cherish long, whatever fortune comes,
The honored name OF genial DIR. Holmes.
Tis time to stop. In sooth, how short is time.
Yet tune is long when drags a tedious rhyme.
Much must be left unsad, full much unsung;
Some random sheets shall here aside be flung
And we will curb the head strong, hayward Muse
That Eighty bird, that MARBLES so profuse.
But this protracted stanza should not cease
And die away in these sweet times of peace
mt ord loud BALI
For Winthrop boys, who, with the boys in blue"
Struck the grim monster of secession down,
And gave their laurals to to the good old town.
The days are fresh before us, with the glare
OF cleaning bayonets, and the wild blare
OF wars dread trumpet calling loud To ARMS;
Defend the country, save her flag from harms! ~
The fire enkindled, ah how soon it burned:
The spirit of the ancient days returned,
And Winthrop boys as promptly as Of yore
Were on the war-path, sword in hand, once n ore.
No idle Boosting, valiant in parade
But covering tmid whore the bullets played,
Mai red their fair records. On the field of strife
Full many bled and some surrendered life.
They speak to us on this centennial day,
With words more eloquent than tongue can say,
And lay an offering on the altar here
Which this old town may well be proud to bear.
Farewell the Muse This is indeed the last
But look! what vision from the misty past
Il this that moves across our pathway now,
With moderate pace all cumbersome and slow
What numbering wagon of the days of old,
What old black horse whose years are all untold,
Whose head and tail aud fetlocks all hang low,
Whose catered harness, built an age ago,
Was made the strain OF times hard wear to stand
What gray old man who drives with palsled hand
And looks about with quite indifferent gaze
On all the folly of these modern days;
Whose pride is in the past, who stops his team
In yonder street and seems to sit and dream,
And wonder what this motley crowd are at
who gaze at him, his team, his coat and hat,
As if the like were never seen before
And were not stylish in the days OF yore p
We know him now tho were but babe
When he was old-lhis same old . Uncle Jdde'+-
Welcome, old man, Wen grasp you by the hand:
You are the sole Survivor in the land
OF those old veterans who did speed the plough
In this good town near eighty years ago.
Thrice we leone, now, for YOU have lived to see
This gala-day with your great country free,
And your Old township prospecting all the while
Beneath the bow of Heavens approving smile:
A boon vouchsafed by Providence TO few
Therefore welcome hand we reach to YOU
Farewell the Muse, coy mistress of all song
Farewell at last the end approached full long
At length is reached Enchantress, fare thee well I!
flushed be the echo of thy minstrel spell
rTis gone-Our harp is on the willow bough
The blue-eyed maid retiring, leaves us now,
And goes serenely through the welkin blue,
Waving to us as we to all, Adieu
*Rev David Thurston.
mir Jabez Bacon, upwards of 80 years of
age and the Oldest inhabitant now living in
Winthrop.
Ex- Gov. Chamberlain asked to be excused
from speaking, but the crowd called him out.
He said he had most gladly accepted the invi-