Many people came to see them, Many people asking questions, Questions of the Light House Village-- "Who was Chaugham? Who was Molly?" Famous then the basket-maker, Grandson of fair Molly Barber, And her spouse, the Honest Chaugham. Old and weak and poor they lingered, For a time beside the Tunxis, Telling each who stopped to listen, Al1 the story of brave Molly And her spouse, the Honest Chaugham, How he was with Spain connected Through the Spanish Senorita, How the Light House Village prospered With its two and thirty cabins On the side of Ragged Mountain, How the people made a living, Daily hunting, fishing, trading, Making baskets strong and useful; All the names of all the children Of the hill-side generations. Last of all he told more slowly All the story of the graveyard, Southward on the sandy hill-side Where beneath the forest shadows, "Over fifty dead were buried." Thus the ancient basket-maker Told the story of his people, Legend of the famous Light House In a paradise of beauty Midst the hills of Litchfield County. From his lips this ancient legend Of the village on the hill-side. 47. MOLLY BARBER, HONEST CHAUGHAM. To-day the place is calm and still, Save the ripple of the Tunxis, Or zephyrs sighing on the hill-- Voices from the Indian village. Ye who love the ancient legends Ye who read the ancient stories, Ye who visit ancient places, Linger in the Peoples' Forest On the side of Ragged Mountain In the town of fair Barkhamsted. Listen as the breezes whisper, "Molly Barber--Honest Chaugham." Wander through the lonely graveyard Where the silent dead are resting, Pause beside the empty cellars; Listen to the Tunxis flowing Slowly southward through the forest. Here it was on Ragged Mountain Years ago that Molly Barber, With her spouse, the Honest Chaugham Built her home and reared her children. On the river and the hill-side Float the echoes of their voices, In the murmur of the waters, In the winds that sway the branches, In the breeze that whispers sadly, In the silence of the forest. 48. ALL THEIR TOIL AND SORROW ENDED. And now we think them dead and gone, But their spirits live forever And through their children carry on Far beyond this quiet valley. Molly sleeps within the graveyard, Hearing not the robins singing In the sweet and pleasant spring time; Feeling not the cold of winter, Or the burning heat of summer; Tasting not the woodland pussy, Or the woodchuck fat and juicy; Smelling not the scented lilacs, Or the springtime's sweet aroma; Seeing not the changing seasons With the sunlight and the shadows. Molly Barber--Honest Chaugham, Resting in the lonely graveyard, All their toil and sorrow ended; Down the ages their descendants Carry on the life they sheltered Here beside the Tunxis River In their crude and lowly cabin, Forest home of Molly Barber And her spouse, the Honest Chaugham. 49. NOW THE LIGHT HOUSE'S GONE FOREVER.