The Portland daily press., 1876-03-25

Over the city hangs mist,
And a smell of the sea brings thought of storm:
About the chimneys the smoke wreat his twist
And under the caves the pigeons swarm
East. northeast, like the finger of doom,
Steadily pointing into the g Dom,
On the First Parish spire is plainly seen
Inc vane which century there hath been.
Sunshine giveth it not kiss,
Shadows it cleayes like the shadows of death;
And, somehow, cometh picture of bliss;
or gardens and poisoning fields in a breath
Cometh out from the kingdom of dreams
Mellowed and nalowed by Demory's beams,
And towers and spires and walls of stone,
And the busy marts with their crowds are gone.
August seventeen sixty-seven;
And here is Parson Samuel Deane.
He looks at the vane which swims in heaven
And murmurs, "Wind west and the sky serene"
Into the garden bis young wife tips
With pleasant greeting upon her lips,
While ever the robins amid the blaze
Of the currant bushes sweet tumult raise.
Parson Smith comes up the street
With f1utering hair meath his three-cornered hat
Long lapelled coat and shoe-buckled feet,
And over the gate holds neghborly chat;
Says that Deane's house "is grand as a kings"
"Cobb and Lowell have done great things;
TIL grand-chidren's children inherit the land
And longer still shall their good work stand''
Autumn seventeen seventy-fve.
An awful redness sweeps over the sky;
Wbirlwinds of smoke through the city drive;
Hither and thither the people fly;
Mowatt's guns in the distance boom,
Telling the city its terrible doom;
Yet over disaster and death and pain,
Like finger of hope points the silent vane.
IT'S May eighth, seventeen eighty Eight;
And the soft winds blow through the greening fields
Up from the cove, and the robins prate
OF all the blisses which summer yields;
And now to the parsons stately home
Five score damsels and danes. have come
With three score spinning Wheels every one
To whirl unceasing till day is done.
Parson Smith in a straight backed chair
OF carven mahogany, brought over seas,
Over his shoulders his long, thin hair
White as a shroud, sits chatting at ease
To Parson Deane Of Fleetwood hill;
While fair Annie Pearson-sixty, but still
Young as at twenty-at every wheel
Drops kind word warm with motherly ZEAL
Sixty spinning wheels all awhirl;
hundred sweet women all talking as one.
From gray headed matron to faxen-hared girl
Keep the house in tumult till setting of sun
And lighting of candles when men folk drop in
Husbands and loyers-increasing the din;
And over this picture so warm and so fair,
The old vane swings in the balmy air.
Years have flown, and Parson Deane
With his warm-hearted wife roam pleasanter land.
Many and many changing scene
Comes and goes. Sheriff Foxcroft SO grand
With his ccckaded hat and wonderful cue,
And gilt-buttoned coat of colonial blue;
Buff vest and breeches, and staff which before
Judge Within an he stifly on court mornings BORE
-
Pshaw! a daydream tits, declare!
Everything changes so strangely to-day!
Ills March sure enough, and everywhere
Is snow on the ground; and, sooth to say
IT'S seventy-six. Yet gone from its place
Is the ancient house with its kindly face.
And outlandish men with the pick and the spade
Dig up foundations century laid.
Still DER the city hangs the mist,
And the smell of the sea brings thought of storm
About the chimneys the smoke wreaths twist,
Aud under the caves the pigeons swarm.
This is no dream, for there in the sky,
Pointing where clouds shut the sun from the eye,
On the First Parish spire is plainly seen
The yane which century there hath been.