Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1874-06-04
The Ride of Collins Graves.
An Incident Of the Flood in Massachusetts, on
May 10th, 1874,
BY JOHN BOYLE o'REILLY.

No song Of soldier riding down
From the raging fight from Winchester town
No song of q time that shook the earth
With the Nations throe at q Nations birth
But the song of brave man, free from fear
AS Sheridan's self or Paul Revere,
Who risked what they risked, free from strife
And its promise of glorious pay-his life.
The peaceful valley has walked and stirred,
And the answering echoes Of life are heard ;
The dew still clings to the trees and grass,
And the early toilers smiling pass,
AS thoy glance aside at the white-walled homes
The brook that sparkles in diamond rills,
AS the sun comes over the Hampshire hills.
What was it, that passed like all ominous
breath,
Like SILVER Of fear or touch Of death
What was it ? The valley is peaceful STILL
And the leaves ale aire on top Of the hill.
1t was not sound, nor thing of sense
But pain, like the pang of the short suspense
That wraps the being Of those who see
At their feet the guilt Of Eternity
The air in the valley has felt tho chill;
The workers pause at the door Of the mill
The housewife, keen to shivering air,
Arrest her foot on the cottage stair.
Instructive taught by the mother love,
And thinks of the sleeping ones above
Why start the listeners Why does the course
OF the mill-steam widen 1t is horse
Hank to the sound of his hoofs, they say,
That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way3
God What was that, like human shrek,
From the winding valley Will nobody speak,
Will nobody answer those women who cry
AS the awful warnings thunder by?
Whence come they? Listen And now they
hear
The sound of the galloping horse hoofs near /;
They watch the trend of the vale, and see
The rider, who thunders so menacingly,
With waving arms, and warning scream,
TO the home-flled banks of the valley stream.
He draws no rein, but he shakes the street
With shout, and the ring of the galloping
feet.
And this is the cry that he filings to the wind:
TO the hills for your iues. The food is behind.
He cries, and is gone; but they know the
worst
The treacherous Williamsburg dam has burst
The basin that nourished their happy homes
Is changed to demon. 1t comes 1t comes
A monster in aspect, with shaggy front
Of shattered dwellings,, to take the brunt
OF the dwellings, they SKATER hite-mamed
and hoarse,
The merciless terror that fills the course
Of the narrow valley, and rushing raves,
With death on the first Of its kissing waves,
Till cottage, and street, and crowded mill,
Are crumbled and crushed.
But onward still
In front Of the roaring food is heard
The galloping horse and the warning word.
Thank God, that the brave mans life is spared,
From Williamsburg he nobly dared
To race with the flood and to take the road
In front of the terrible swath it moved.
For miles it Numbered and crashed behind,
But he looked ahead with steadfast mind
"They must be auar,,ed," was all he said,
AS away on his terrible ride he sped.
When heroes are called for bring the crown
To this Yankee rider send him down
On the stream of time with the Curtius old;
His deed as the Romans was brave and bold,
And the tale can as noble thrill awake,
For he offered his life for tho peoples sake.