Produced by Irma Spehar, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file made using scans of public domain works at the University of Georgia.) [Illustration: OLD FLOAT BRIDGE ACROSS THE PERQUIMANS RIVER] IN ANCIENT ALBEMARLE _By Catherine Albertson_ PUBLISHED BY THE NORTH CAROLINA SOCIETY DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION ILLUSTRATED FROM DRAWINGS BY MABEL PUGH RALEIGH COMMERCIAL PRINTING COMPANY 1914 COPYRIGHT, 1914 BY CATHERINE ALBERTSON DEDICATION TO MARY HILLIARD HINTON STATE REGENT DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION WITHOUT WHOSE AID AND ENCOURAGEMENT THESE CHAPTERS WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN --_C.A._ THE PERQUIMANS RIVER From the Great Swamp's mysterious depths, Where wild beasts lurk and strange winds sough; From ancient forests dense and dark, Where gray moss wreathes the cypress bough; 'Mid marshes green with flowers starred, Through fens where reeds and rushes sway, Past fertile fields of waving grain, Down to the sea I take my way. The wild swan floats upon my breast; The sea-gulls to my waters sink; And stealing to my low green shores, The timid deer oft stoops to drink. The yellow jessamine's golden bells Ring on my banks their fairy chime; And tall flag lilies bow and bend, To the low music keeping time. Between my narrow, winding banks, For many a mile I dream along 'Mid silence deep, unbroken save By rustling reed, or wild bird's song; Or murmuring of my shadowed waves Beneath the feathery cypress trees, Or pines, responsive to the breath Of winds that breathe sea memories. So far removed seem shore and stream, From sound and sight of mart or mill, That Kilcokonen's painted braves Might roam my woods and marshes still. And still, as in the days of yore, Ere yet the white man's sail I knew, Upon my amber waves might skim The Indian maiden's light canoe. Thus, half asleep, I dream along, Till low at first, and far away, Then louder, more insistent, calls A voice my heart would fain obey. And by a force resistless drawn, The narrow banks that fetter me I thrust apart, and onward sweep In quiet strength toward the sea. I leave my marshes and my fens; I dream no more upon my way; But forward press, a river grown, In the great world my part to play. Upon my wide and ample breast, The white-winged boats go hurrying by; And on my banks the whirring wheels Of busy mills hum ceaselessly. And sharing man's incessant toil, I journey ever onward down, With many a lovely sister stream, With all the waters of the Sound, To join the sea, whose billows break, In silver spray, in wild uproar, Upon the golden bars that guard The lonely Carolina shore. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE