Legend of Barkhamsted Light House: A Tale from the Litchfield Hills of Connecticut — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
Legend of Barkhamsted Light House: A Tale from the Litchfield Hills of Connecticut
John Stuart Mill · en
Gathered there her children
And her children's children's children
To the third great generation,
On the side of Ragged Mountain,
'Neath the branches of the oak trees,
When the autumn sun was slanting
Westward o'er the Tunxis River.
Aged by many years of labor,
William Wilson read the Bible,
Spoke of Molly's sweet devotion
To her husband and her children;
Prayed that God above reward her.
Then they bore her to the graveyard,
Left her there alone in silence,
With a field-stone for a marker.
Molly's life and work were ended.
Burdened by her father's anger,
She had struggled on unbroken,
Hidden in the gloomy forest,
On the side of Ragged Mountain
In the town of fair Barkhamsted.
Had she wed a wealthy suitor,
As her angry father ordered,
Lived among the rich and stately,
Long ago her name forgotten,
Hidden in the dusty records
Of the town beside the river,
By the mighty Central River;
Of her life no story written,
Or her legend in the valley
In the town of fair Barkhamsted.
39. SHE FAR OUTtlVED THE FARMER'S BRIDE.
In lowly hut on mountain side,
Eating squirrel, skunk and woodchuck,
She far outlived the farmer's bride,
Eating beef and bread and butter.
Longer lived she in the cabin,
Drinking from the Tunxis River,
Pounding corn for hungry children;
Longer lived she eating woodchuck,
And the fearless woodland pussy;
Longer lived she sleeping nightly
On her bed of hemlock branches
Than the housewives of the farmers,
Living in their boarded houses,
Eating beef and bread and butter;
Drinking from the oaken bucket,
Sleeping on their beds of feathers,
Free from father's burning anger
And the shouting of his orders.
40. HENRY, OFTEN CALLED MANASSA.
And then the son of Mossock came,
Made his home in Colebrook River,
To spear the fish and hunt for game,
Fearing not the forest creatures.
After Molly's sad departure,
To the Land of the Hereafter,
Dwelt Elizabeth, unmarried,
And a couple village children,
Safely in the lonely Chaugham cabin,
On the side of Ragged Mountain.
As the years were rolling onward,
Few the children in the village,
Scattered were the Light House people,
Through the State, and through the nation,
Seeking other habitations.
In the year of eighteen forty,
South on Farmington's broad meadow,
Dwelt a wicked Tunxis Indian,
Henry, often called Manassa,
Son of Solomon, the Mossock,
From the realms of Satan's Kingdom,
Where the Tunxis cut a channel,
Southward through the granite mountain,
In the confines of New Hartford.
In the year of eighteen forty
Henry came to Chaugham's cabin,
On the side of Ragged Mountain,
Saw Elizabeth was busy,
Still he lingered at the doorway,
Telling of his many troubles,
Begging food and begging money,
Saying that he was related;
Wandered through the little village,