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Pair Prospect, how softly the evening light glow’s, Fading far o'er thy summit from ruby to rose, As if loth to deprive the green meadows below . , Of the tinge and the glory they drink in its glow. Oh home looking Hill how beloved dost thou rise once more to my sight,through the shadowy skies. Shielding still in their sheltering grandure unfurl’d The landscape to me that so long was my world. Fairies. blest evening, one moment era. Till the tears of the pilgrim are dried in thy ray. And he feels that though years of long absence not one of his friends the lone rock and grey ruin is gone. Not one, as I wind the nooks fastnesses through. ~ The valley of boyhood is bright in my view. Once again my glad vision in fetterless flight . May wing through a sphere of un clouded delight. O’er one maze of broad orchard, green meadow and slope . From whose tints I once pictured the pinions of hope, Still the cottage gleams white, still the willows are weeping. Where the sleep of the pilgrims, my fathers are sleeping. The vane-points tells as usual the wind from the mill and the wheel tumbles loudly and merrily still. While the rocks of old Chatham stand somber as ever With their grim shadow rusting the blue of the river; Tbhé Connecticut River bloom’ skirted behold. : Now sleeping in calm now refulgently rolled, : Where long through the landscape it tran quilly flows : Scarcely breaking Old Portland's uncon scious repose. By the Isle’s lonely pathway it lingers and shines . Past Sebethe’s stream that so gracefully winds, . Where the lips of the lillys seem wooing its stay did their orderous dells; but ‘tis off and away. Rushing out through the clustering oaks, in whose shade In the twilight of ey’en the lovers have strayed, Past the mill ponds and gazed on the sparkling brooks . As they strayed o’er’ the meadows, or clambered the nooks. Wild haunt of my fathers, I stand by the spring, _ Whose noses of purity sparkle and fling Their wealth at my feet and I catch the deep glow .As in long vanished hours of the lilacs that blow. By the low cottage porch, and the same crescent moon? . That plowed like a pinnace the purple of sun. Shines as bright on the glon and all blooms ef unchanged . As if years had not fled since the green woods I ranged. As if they were not gone who imparted the soul . Of devilest enchantment and grace to the whole, Whose beings were bright as that fair moon above. And all deep and all pure as thy waters their love. Thou long-vanished loved ones, whose loveliness threw O’er my gloomy existence thy glorious hue, Dost thou still as of yore when the even ing grows dim, And the blackbirds by Prospect are hush ing their hymn. ‘Remember the pool neath the hills western cide, ‘Where the winds whisper soft as the kiss of the tide . Dost thou still think with pity and peace on thy brow of him who toil harrassed and’ time spoken now. While the last light of day like his youth has departed on the spot thou hast hallowed sinks down weary hearted, And calls on thy name, while the “night ~ ‘breezes sighs Through the boughs that once blessed thee is all that replys. WILLSHIRE. OUR DEMOCRACY. It is not of the loaves and fishes order. If that was our desire we should forsake the printing business. It is not to secure soft places for our favorites and to pave the way for sine cures. We are too much imbued with the cause for which our forefathers fought to believe in the retention of office for a gen eration. No government can be properly admin istered where the officers have been in power for a generation, the office the reward of dirty political chicanery. Our Democracy does not become blind when the faults of the party are pointed out, nor can we be cajoled with a paltry or to whoop it up for a candi ate. Our Democracy believes in the science of honest government and that Democrats be governed by Democrats. No Republi can ginngwump officials on our bill of fare, if you please. Straight out and out Democrats, or —s. . Our Democracy is not of the old fash ioned kind that would sooner tear a board off a f than put one on. It believes and k up with the moving procession.
Newspaper Details
The Penny Press
Middletown, Connecticut, US
Fri, Aug 21, 1885
Page 4
Full Page
Clipped by
Richard D.
USA 12 Jul 2026
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