Milford chronicle. [volume] (Milford, Del.) 1878-1974, 1923-05-18
WINTERS COMING

Winters Coming! Winters Coming!
Howling Ger the hills in wrath;
Buds and blossoms now are blooming,
Soon to perish in his path
See the Storm King now advances
| WhirlWindS wheel his crystal car;
Hank! the tempest round him dances,
Down the dark'ning sky afar.
Winters Coming! Winters Coming!
See a hundred hills are white;
IFlowrets are no longer blooming,
| Groves no longer glad the sight.
Summers flying! Summers flying!
On her silver sandals see
Her footsteps, where the flowers are dy-
And the leaves lie meath the tree.
Winters Roaring! Winters Roaring!
Hear him thro' the forest gFoan!
Stormy floods now fast are pouring
| Wild winds round the buildings moan!
Mark the sea-boy on the ocean,
(Riding on the sounding surge')
Bend the knees in wild DEVOTION
J While the sea-gods sing his dirge.
Winters Coming! Winters Coming!
Rouse the bright fire in the hall;
Smiling beauty now is blooming
Rushing at the bridal ball.
Tho as fading natures flowers
On the bosom of the earth;
Fairer flowers, blooming powers,
Beauty's bosom now gives birth'
Winters Coming! Winters Coming!
But he soon shall pass away;
Spring again, with fiowrets blooming,
Soon shall grace the gardens gay;
Thus the heart that pines in sorrow
In life's winter sinks and dies;
But the Spring that breaks tomorrow
Bids it live beyond the Skies
The above poem deserves to be plac-
ed in the school books of Delaware,
that every child in the State might be
able to read it and know and judge
for themselves.
So lived the Milford Bard. The last
three years of his life was spent in
Wilmington where he sickened ana
died of consumption, in January, 164S.
From a newspaper clipping, yelloW
with age, because it was cut from
some Wilmington paper some thirty OF
more years ago, we quote the follow
ing description Of the Bard's last rest
almost in the exact center Of st.
Andrews Churchyard, in this city, is
large white marble tomb, from
which the inscription has been so
thoroughly obliterated as to be unde-
cipherable. Around this limb, but far
] enough away from it to make 1t ap-
I pear isolated, are few other time
stained and decrepit-a ppearing grave
stones. They stand at all angles, are
broken and gray, and have all the in
dications of neglected old age and a
speedy fall. The big tomb-not SO
large for these days Of big vaults and
elaborate monuments-has stood the
wear and tear of half a century, and
is still trim and true in its outlines.
It appears new when compared with
it's companions and suggests that II
will soon be alone in that loneltest OF
places-a neglected city churchyard.
"a few feet away from this tomb
Just where cannot be determined ex-
cept by reference to the record, and
measurement, is the lost and almost
forgotten grave of the Milford Bard.
The big, prim tomb is that of Mrs.
Carry Chambers, the sister Of the
Bard"
Here it is said he was buried with
no sermon preached over his grave
and no stone placed to mark the spot:
Yet he was said to be DelaWares
only poet; surely this thing ought not
so to be.
AS a Delaware man, in far dis
tant State, where I have lived for a
/ half century, L appear 10 every 4aAt
minded man and woman, boy and girl,
in my native State, if the Milford Bard
ought not to have fairly decent
stone to mark his last resting place.
If the boys and girls of the schools
of Delaware, that the Milford Bard
loved so well, would only contribute
the magnificent sum Of ONE CENT
EACH, that would be sufficient, with
what the teachers and friends might
want to give for the boys and girls OF
other days, who could not be counted
now, but would be glad to help in this
good but rather tardy undertaking, to
keep the Poets memory green for
many long years to come.
Oh, thou Harp Of Delaware, thou
almost forgotten Milford Bard! with
all thy faults, we love thee still.
JOHN W. BEEBE.
ElwoOd. Ind. 1929.