Omaha daily bee., 1889-06-17
THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES
An Incident Of the Flood in Massa-
ChusettS. May 1G. 1874.

The following stirring poem, written
by John Boyle O'Reilly, is recalled by
the heroic ride of Daniel Peyton, the
Paul Revere of the Concmaugh dis
aster: a,t
No song of soldier riding down
To the raging fight from Winchester Town |;
No song of a time that shook the earth
With the Nations throe at q Nations birth; {;
But the song of Il brave man. free from fear
AS Sheridan's self or Paul Revere
Who risked what they rsked, free from
strife
And its promise of glorious pay-his life
The peaceful valley has walked and stirred.
And tie answering echoes of life are heard !;
The dew still clngs to the trees and grass,
And the early toilerS smiling pass
AS they glance aside at the white-waled
E"' homes, 7n~'' - .,''
Or up the valley, where merrily comes,
The brook that sparkles in diamond rills
AS the sun comes over the Hampshire hills.
What was II that passed like an ominous
breath9
Like shiver of fear or touch of death!
What was lta The valley is peaceful still,
And the leaves are afire on the top of the hill.
1t was not sound, nor thing of sense
But pain, like the pang of the short sus-
pense
That wraps the being of those who see
AT their feet the gulf of eternity!
The air of the valley has felt the chill;
The workers pause at the door of the mill;
The housewife, keen TO the shivering air,
Arrests her foot on the cottage STAIR
Instinctively taught by the mother-love,
And thinks of the sleeping ones above.
Why start the listenerss Why does tn
course
OF the mill stream widen9 Is it n horse,
Hark to the sounds of his hoofs, they say,
That gallops so wildly the williamsburg
wayl
From the winding valley! Will nobody
speak,
viii nobody answer those women who cry
AS the awful warnings thunder byl
Whence come theya Listen And, now they
The sound of the galloping horse hoofs near;
They watch the trend of the vale, and see,
The rider, who thunders 80 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 ana the ring of the gallopng
feet
And this the cry that he filings to the wind:
"To the hills for your lives! The flood is
behindr'
He cries and Is gone, but they know tn
worst
NO w
burst!
The basin that nourished their happy homes
Is changed to a demon. 1t comes il
comes!
A mouster in aspect, with shaggy front
OF shattered dwellings, to take the brunt
OF the dwellings thoy shatter-white named
and hoarse,
The merciless terror fills the course
OF the narrow valley, ana rushing raves,
With death on the first of its Kissing waves,
Till cottage and street and crowded mill
Are crumbled and crushed
But on ward still.
In front of the roaring flood is heard
The gailoping horse and the warning word
Thank God that the brave mans life is
spared
From Williamsburg Town he nobly dared
To race with the flood and to take the road
In front Of the terrible swath it moved.
For miles it thundered and crashed behind,
But he looked ahead with a steadtast mind /;
"They must be warned ~ was all he said,
AS away on his terrible ride he sped.
When heroes are called for, bring the crown
To this Yankee rider; wend 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 a thrill awake,
For he offered his life for the peoples sake.