The Portland daily press., 1874-12-18
POETRY.
A Home Scene.

The following verses were read, a few evenings
ago. at reunion around the freside of a home in
ono of the sturdy old towns in this county. They
were written by member of the family who could
not be present. The home friends and those who
were bid len from neighboring towns made goody
circle they sat in the glow OF the great open that
night and Joined in iubiation over the return CT
long absent kinfolk and friends You need not think
Mr.. Editor, that am going to do SO unfair and in
delicate thing as to invade the privacy of family
party and tell you who were there and what was
done or to initiate the modern jenkins and describe
the toiettes and such. shall do such thing; but
do not think shall violate the hospitality which
have enjoyed if give your readers the chance to
read these verses. The writer OF them is woman;
and think you will agree with me that the lines
are poetry.
The evening was red letter one for all who can
enjoy pure fun and jollty and good cheer The big,
high fireplace twelve feet broad, and full of fame,
the "wannut logs shooting sparkes out, the grim
old "queens -arm" hanging in the corner, and even
the fat able-boded goose turning upon the spit be-
fore the fire, seemed to enter into the spirit OF the
fun; and everybody had merry and memorable
night at Valley Lodge. YAK.
BALDWIN, Dec. 10, 1874.
VALLEY LODGE.
Whose brightness no wording can measure,
That so many friendships comminge tonight,
In greeting, and tokens Of pleasure
welcome in spirit, as though were there,
The girls to the home by the mountain,
And reverently say that no joy can compare
With the bliss we imbibe at homes fountain.
Lfe's ocean is broad, its experiences deep,
And wisdom is garnered in travel,
Yet still tits the homeland the power must keep,
Loves mystery sweet, to unravel.
We treasure the memory, all the world DER,
or the hearth where we lowered in childhood,
No marble mosaic could e'er please more
Than fat stones from Quaker Brook wildwood.
Full well remember how long, long ago
With childish and wonderful pleasure,
BY most agile stretching on highest tip-toe,
Our height by the mantle we'd measure.
If now real goose is to hang by the fire
Where grandfather's bear was cnce roasted,
IT'S no disrespect to the taste of our sire
That Bruin comes not to be "toasted.''
Those magical corners, close in by the crane
Where shovel and tongs stood together,
Like dgnitied pair of old folks, who remain
Firmly upright, through fortunes rough weather.
And then the brick oven, whose brownbread and
The ravingest young hunger stated!
Though years have elapsed amid far varied scenes,
Not whit has thisRrdor abated.l
The old house is full of rare memories quaint,
Too crowded host now to mention,
procession of ghosts, who will make no complaint
To find themselves ''laid' by invention.
In dust-covered silence they patiently stand
Midst the new generation, hot-headed,
And see the piano now claim the fair hand
Which once to the loom would be welded.
As idle old spectres, with rickety bones,
The treadles and warning bars greet you,
The wheels merry buzz and the reels swapping
tones M eEf 4t-
Those old-fashioned relics now meet you,
Ancient cards fold their hands in the lap of regret
Their once shining teeth growing rusty;
The fax comb that once was the housekeeper's pet.
Lies under the garrett caves, dusty.
And even the cradle our fathers own hand
In his first parent joy, all ecstatic
Constructed, to soace "the pride of the land'
In emptiness stands in the attic.
The well, with its sweep hanging over the way.
Resigns to modernized plumbing.
The brook rpples by in its musical play,
Old tunes through the stone bridge-way thrum-
ming.
Yet well do we know, should rude hand pretend
To tarnish the ancestral glory,
Twenty hands would instinctively rise to defend,
And ten hearts proudly cherish the story.
warm-hearted welcome cordially send
To the girls, at this festive re-meeting,
And glancing my thought DER the past now blend
A sacred remembrance, withsgreeting
Wherever we 60, or whatever work do,
In the intricate pattern we're weaving,
The heart to the home shall forever be true
loou