The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1886-04-29
Kittery Legend, or Grave by the Sea.

Kittery Legend, or Grave by the Sea.
The following poem was first published in the
Boston journal of March 9th. We take it from
the Daily Penny Post of Portsmouth, n. H., in
which it appeared with editorial preface. The
Post says;
The lady mentioned in the poem was Mrs.
Margaret Hills, who, with her husband, was wreck
ed of the Isles of Shoals about eighty years ago.
Mrs. Hills lived in Belfast Me, and was on her
way to Chester, n H. to visit her parents and her
native town. Her husband was washed overheard
and lost. The storm was one of the most terrible
that ever swept this coast 1t is believed that
Mrs. Hills persisted from cold and exhaustion. The
name of the vessel is unknown: nor have we any
information in regard to the number of the crew
or how many others were lost. Mrs. Hills body
recovered, and buried in the little picturesque
graveyard at kttery Point; a headstone erected
by her brother marks her resting place Mrs.
Hills was twenty-eight years Of age when she lost
her life. One of her sisters died at Concord, n.
H., about eight years ago, at the age of eighty
nine: and another still lives, ninety years old.
poem, survives.
The author of the poem, Mrs. Heath rghtfully
lnhcritS the story she has skifully developed,
being hy marriage, the granddaughter of the Mar
garct Hills of the poem.'
Hon. Joseph Williamson, Of Belfast, has rec
ord of this shipwreck, of which mention is made in
his history OF Belfast When asked concerning
the incident Mr.. Williamson said; eyes, know
about it. Two years ago | stood over the grave of
Margaret Hills at Kittery Point:
The history of the shipwreck briefly is this
Capt. John Lymbu1ncr, in The sloop Hero sailed
from Belfast in October 1903 for Boston, with 4
load Of wood. Oliver Hills and his wife Margaret
Hills were passengers. The Hills moved here
from Chester, y H., and built house on what is
known as the pavistown road, where their son,
Robert Hills, lived and died His death occurred
in Is72. The descendants of the Hills now live in
this vicinity On the 3lst of October, 1903, the
Hero capsized during gale near kittery, and
oliver Hills was drowned His wife Margaret
Nick. Hills was taken on the wreck, 1 persisted
from exposure before reaching the shore. A stone
over her grave, in the cemetery at kitcry Point,
bears the following epitaph:
MARGARET HILLS,
Consort of
OLIVER HILLS,
Died Oct. 3lst, 1868, aged IS years.
81 lost my life in the raging seas,
4 sovereign God does as he please;
The kitterl friends they did appear,
And my remains they buried here"
THE POEM.
Did you ever look from Kittcry side,
Across to the windy Isles of Shoals,
Or down the bay where the ocean rolls,
And heaves with high incoming tide;
Or stand on deck OF ship at night,
When the waves were white With angry foam,
Ard watch, in doubt for the harbor light
That should have given welcome home:
Then You must have thought of the graves below,
W here even a daisy never grew,
And hose near to the ebb and flow,
Iht are wet by the spray instead Of dew.
More ,,lemn than sweet i, the requiem sung
When the rocks are dashed hy the breakers white,
AMI the foanIy Wreath> that are upward flung
Fail back i'll Cayerns as dark nj light.
But when, at a close Of A sumlner day,
The wind j. hu-hed in a silence deep;
When night is stealing across the bay,
And over the headlands shadows creep,
1t IS SWeetHr than any organ tone
1t voices the deepest grief We know;
Its signs seem echoes OF songs unknown,
The eadest and sweetest e'er heard below
tell the tale as twas told to me:
1t was more than fourscorc years ago,
An autumn morn with a breath of show,
That staunch Old ship put out to sea,
From port in Maine, where Il rocl-bound bay
swept into 5hc quaint old fishing town,
With 4 name that over the sea was blown
Where barquea and -chooners at anchor lay;
Ship that had weathered many a breeze,
And itln bCcalmcd in our southern seas;
''>c;,Worthy,' her brave old captain said,
With breezy nod II his grizzlei head.
On hoard was mother, Young and fair,
But little beyond her girlhood wears.
Her face unturoWed by time or care,
Was wet with recent flow of tears,
For her two fair boys were left behind,
and baby girl, in the warm ho!ne nest;
For such was the peril Of wave and wind
In that early time this course seemed best
But the mothers heart her brood would miss,
The days would he long without their kiss,
And she may have thought, Wien too late, with
That her guardian angel had warned in vain.
II Will come At the close of harvest time
Her letter had said a month before,
While the grain is still in the thrcshing floor
Il he los arr, i'm l,li,. min
\ gu must save me a few that ripen late,
OF the eWeet ones down by the garden wall,
And my favorite ones by the orchard gate
IN fancy see and taste them ali,
II is wears since |, in my apron blue,
Dill gather the fairest ones for you.
| shall come, dear mother, before the snow,
And may all the bieeLcs westward blow"
Last night, with my balv's hand in mine.
dreamed sat by the Old hearthstone;
The fire was CHEEKY With knots Of pine,
And Your face, like the face of an angel, shonc.
\ book lay closed on the table old
1t one had never seen before
The freight played on its clasp of gold,
And threw Its shadow across the door;
\ pall-like shadow that grew apace
As tile door fell 10, with hollow sound;
Then wall, as of ali the winds in space,
And the u1mpinS Of feet Oh frozen ground.
"But the shadows covered my frightened eyes,
Andmy ears We're filed with the roar of the sea,
Then all that knew went out from me
Till woke at the sound of my baby's ,rics.
My husband smiles at the dismal tlIme
And calls it another homesick sign
And know You will say twas a silly dream,
But wished could hear you. mother mnc.''
And the loving mother sighed and smiled
~ thought Of the bride in her girlish bloom,
Who had left her own for the lovers home
ON that eastern coast 50 bleak and wild.
50 tho harvest came, ana the autumn leaves,
In ruby and gold had rustled down;
And lay in heaps like the ripened sheaves,
And slowly turned To a sober brown.
And the good ship sailed with the wind and tide
mat autumn morn, and at sun
The distance from port was growing wide,
And the iil--tarred Journey was well begun.
The anxious mother with tcar--tainGd cheek
Looked back, as each wcll-knoWn point was
passed.
And her tender heart was strong on weak,
a. her hopes or her fears did hold her fast.
"God keep them safely-mv little ones
With parting glance at the far-of shore,
GLOW many rising and setting sUnS,
IRE h"id you all in my arms once more"
My sistcrs,' she said ARE Young and gay
But mothers hair must be growing gray.
Did she greve for the bird from the home nest
flown,
As should g1ieVc for the loss Of my oWn:"
But her husband cheered her with loving words,
Till the smile, came back Ia her rosy lips,
And her eyes We're free of their tear eclipse
10 watch the flight of the ocean birds.
Then the night went by, and roughened sea
Tossed the ship and crew like a child at play;
And the morning sky was duh and gray
The caden gray OF storm to be
lhcn moaning sound came up from the west,
.hi''t ANSWERING from lllt utptIlS iHloW
While the white foam, leaping from crest to crest
Was piled i'll drifts like the winter snow.
Then the tickle wind veered swiftly round,
A one who is paid his honoI's price,
And the sparS and sails by the sleet were hound
And the deck was swept with wave Of ice.
O long drawn hours, when no star
- er the weary waste of waters ShOnc.
50 dark and wild, it was hardly known
When the day was ended and night begun.
And little was heard but the roar of the sea,
Each heart was filled with Il mute desl air,
As helpless they drifted fast in shore
And no one but Death to nee them there
The crisis came in a night of woe;
The sailors We're chilled with Sleet and spray,
The rocks were cruel that lurked below,
The wind like Il tend on the track of prey.
In the path of the ship, the Isles of Shoals
Lay curtalned with foam as soft as down;
An cider bed for the weary souls
The treacherous waves might seize and drown.
The thunder of surf on that rocky shore
Like a knell of death, heard afar.
Twas fearful night on old Appledore,
Twas a fearful night on the Isle of Star.
o. far-famed Isles with Your sea born grace,
Your anchors that mock at the storm winds
breath,
How many, wind-tossed to your cold embrace,
Have found your shelter the gate of Death?
The husband was lost, but where or when
None of the hopeless crew could tell;
The sea that Knocked at his last wild PRAYER
Has guarded the secret long and well.
washed or it was said, by a mighty wave,
With none to mark where he sank or rose:
Did the wife cry out for to save,
Or swoon in terror? God only knows!