Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1906-07-26
Arcadia Valley.
MRS. F. L. CLOVER.

Wnerc nature reveals ner fareSt Charms.
1t is guarded on the eastward
By Old Pilot Knob so grand
Which has yielded richest treasure,
That turned to gold, filled miner hand.
And it still preserves its contour,
Still holds wealth within its breast;
Is the center of attraction
Seems to loom above the rest,
Like guardian angel, stately,
Watching Ger tbe children sweet
OF the houses in the hamlet
That is nestled at his feet
Yet he's only one of many,
Piecing out perfect chain,
Which surrounds the little valley
Coming back to him again.
When Mother Nature, having
One more mountain in her basket,
Dropped it right down in the center,
Like jewel in its casket;
This is called the grand old Shepherd;
For from his vantage ground,
He looks over the whole valley
For miles and miles around;
Overlooks the little hamlets
Dotted DER the valley fair,
Der streams and field and meadows,
And the corn6elds ripening there;
The farm houses in the orchards,
And right here let me confess,
That the apples from those orchards
Are dream Of perfectness,
With their cheeks so rich and ruddy.
And the juice, when from them pressed,
Is nectar fit for Gods,
But consumed by man as blessed.
Can look down upon the vineyards
Some have crept far up his side,
With their loads of grapes,
Some purple, crimson, green.
Oh, how happy they should be
Who possess little home
In this peaceful little valley,
One of the fairest spots e'er seen.
Ever changing with the seasons,
Till we nearly do not know
In which garb she is the fairest.
Summers bloom or winters snow,
With Springs tender greens and blossoms,
Autumn's reds and browns and gold,
Sunlight, moonlight, fair or storming,
She's the same siren of old.
And the dear old modest mountains,
Always seen so far away,
For they always veil their faces
With blue mist every day.
Though sometimes they change,
When "the low sun casts the color"
Caressing with his first or last rays,
Rejecting all the shades of violet and rose
And cadminn and, yes, sometimer a streal
Of Nile.
All so beautifully blended,
That no human artist ever need try
To paint one like it,
For only The Creator could spread sucl
scenes at will.
See the sportsman wend his way
TO the stream as clear as cyrstal
Cool and sparkling from the
Mountain springs they flow.
AS he deity drops his hook
Within its shlmmering waters,
He idly sits and wonders
Was there e'er spot below,
Better suited to the needs
OF man all tired and weary
OF city life SO leary,
With its noise and push and glow?
Thinks, as quietly he reclines
On messy bank beneath the vines,
How happy he would be
Could he lnger SO, care free,
Breathing in deep draughts
Of the fresh mountain air;
Think what wealth he'd carry away
In red corpuscles in his blood,
New lie stored up TO last
Full many day;
In the tan upon his cheek;
In the memories he'd retain
Of the peaceful scenes,
Long mountain road and creek,
Or the fun about the chigger,
Which is such little digger,
And Of the big fish that
He did not catch, perchance
And he feels he's well repaid,
And will forever praise,
To the ending Of his days,
The peaceful little valley where he stayed.
Here along the old rail fences,
Which have stood two score of years,
This is what they tell me-
And It's true, have no fears
You may start drove of turkeys,
Or deer, perhaps apanther,
For there's game, and plenty of it,
In the depths of Ozark's wilds.
There's spot on Shepherds brow,
Which shows quite plain e'en now,
Where once Prices army did encamp.
I can lead you up the trail,
Almost covered, like veil,
With rocks and heavy growth Of underbrush
l can show you deep trenches,
And the breast-works built by soldiers,
To protect them from the bullets Of the foe
There upon the highest point
They signaled to their friends,
Who were holding forth
On Pilot Knob, you know;
While from the old fort in the valley,
Shells did fly and muskets volley,