Gathered here from many quarters, Lived this people without system, On produce scanty of their village, Small potatoes near the cabins, Scanty corn between the boulders, Here and there a stalk of barley, Beans and squash and hardy melons, Eked out was it by their hunting, When they shot or trapped the squirrel, Or the partridge or the woodchuck, Woodchuck plump and fat and savory, Or the fearless woodland pussy, Walking calmly in the night time, Fearing not the hunters' arrows, Or the hound that followed slowly, Fearful of the mystic perfume, Or the fox so sly and cunning, Or the coon from tree top watching, While the dogs were bravely hunting, Running 'round and 'round in circles, Or the rabbit and the chipmunk, Or by fishing in the river, Catching trout and eels and suckers, Where the darkling waters murmured; Or with fingers deft and nimble, Out of splints of bending hickory, Or the heavy strips of white ash, Wove in fabric strong and useful, Many ornamental baskets, Many useful brooms for sweeping, Which they sold for cash or barter. On the hill side daily toiling, Found they roots and herbs for healing, Ferns to cure the poison ivy, Soft witch hazel steeped for bruises. Many medicines they fashioned For the people of the township, Selling each for cash or barter. 4. DO YOU WISH TO HEAR THE STORY? With one accord you ask to hear All the story of the Light House And those who dwelt with hardy cheer By the peaceful Tunxis River. Do you wish that I should tell you? Tell you how this people came here? All the story of the Light House? Of the cabins and the village? Of this people and their labors? Of the graveyard on the hill side? Of the forest-sheltered graveyard? Of this tribe who were the founders? Of this tribe who were the children? All the legend of the Light House By the peaceful Tunxis River In the town of fair Barkhamsted? If you wish your questions answered, Listen to this ancient legend From the storied hills of Litchfield, From the confines of Barkhamsted, And the valley of the Tunxis. 5. PETER BARBER'S LOVELY DAUGHTER. There was a maiden sweet and fair, Daughter of great Peter Barber, The richest man residing there, Always dignified and stately. Far off then, in regions eastward, Of the time long past and vanished, Near the land where flows the river, Flows the mighty Central River Through rich Wethersfield a rolling Southward to the sea-born billows, Dwelt a rich and portly farmer By the name of Peter Barber, Always dignified and stately Was this wealthy Peter Barber, To this man was born a daughter, In the year of sev'nteen-fifteen, And he named her Molly Barber, Of appearance bright and comely, Fairest of the village maidens, Sunshine of her father's mansion, Loved and cherished by her mother. Always truthful was this daughter, Honored, trusted and respected, By the people of the hamlet, Heeding well her parents' wishes. 6. SWEET AND FAIR AND MOST ATTRACTIVE WAS THIS LITHE AND GRACEFUL MAIDEN.