AROUN^^
SKANEATELES LAKE
JOHN HODGSON BARROW
CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME
OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT
FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY
HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE
Cornell University
Library
The original of this book is in
the Cornell University Library.
There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.
http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022016111
Lays of the Mountain
Forest and Lake
WOODS, WATERS AND SEASONS
ABOUT SKANEATELES LAKE
JOHN DODGSON BARROW
^
Qil0
SYRACUSE N. Y.
LYMAN BROS. PRINTERS
1907
ET
IN MEMORIAM
The poems of John D. Barrow, embraced in this
little volume, were selected by him from many which
he had at various times written, and which were the
natural result of a desire to picture with the pen what
he so gracefully drew with the pencil. Those familiar
with the scenes described will recognize not only their
grand features, but the keen observation which in-
cluded the most delicate details. In him were blended
the tastes of naturalist and artist, swayed by that
feeling which made him look through nature up to
nature's God. He saw more than met the outward
eye. Thoroughly reverent and pure-minded, he was
always at home in those woods and on those waters
where nothing evil seemed to come. Not that he
was misanthropic. He delighted to meet kindred
minds, as early friends know well. Those friends he
made late in Hfe, especially in the Onondaga Historical
Association, knew him as one of the most genial and
companionable of men. The mutual regret was that
they had not known each other long before.
Mr. Barrow was bom in 1824, both his parents
being of the Society of Friends, persons whom it was
a delight to know. They removed to Skaneateles
in 1839, at which time he went to England, returning
thence in 1844. My long acquaintance with him soon
began — a privileged acquaintance of over sixty years
standing, full of delightful episodes of many kinds. In
the woods or on the waters, climbing the mountain
or exploring the ravine, pomiding the rocks outdoors
or the lecture desk within, gathering historic material
or facts of natural science, sketching on the lake-shore,
or in grave conventions dealing with weighty affairs,
we were much together, drawing perhaps stiU closer
as other friends fell asleep. That he had other chosen
friends was a matter of course. Nothing pleased
him better than to share his pleasures with them, and
"the log cabin" by the lake welcomed them often.
Quiet in all his ways, modest almost to a fault, he yet
drew men to him. Once known no one forgot him.
In his artist life in New York he naturally knew well
many early and noted artists, of whom he had pleasant
reminiscences. More than now these had a life of
their own, and were men of unique character. De-
lightful it was to watch the camp-fire, and hear these
stories from one who made no envious comments.
even when his sympathies were not with some. But
his true home was not in the city. His thoughts ever
turned to coimtry scenes, to forest paths and spark-
ling streams, and especially to that fair water, which
he fondly termed "our lake," every foot of whose
shores was pictured in his mind. To row, to sail, to
climb, to explore, to paint the scenes he saw, this was
to be happy.
Well versed in literature, he found delight in Whit-
tier's lines, and in descriptions of scenery this influence
may be seen. He shared his American tastes and
hatred of wrong, but had not his warlike spirit. Yet
he was the designer and promoter of the Skaneateles
soldiers' monument — the friend of the soldier himself.
It might be better said he was the true friend of all.
No wise public project lacked his support. Constant
in his religious duties, he thought also of mental culture,
and spared no pains to make the Library a social bless-
ing. His gifts of art galleries to that and the Syracuse
PubHc Library deserve a benediction. He was active-
ly engaged in enlarging the former when called hence,
December 7, 1906, at the ripe age of 82 years. A
delegation of the ofificers of the Onondaga Historical
Association attended his funeral at St. James' Church,
Skaneateles, December 10, mourning for a much loved
friend. He had long been a warden of that church,
and for some years an esteemed director of that asso-
ciation. One of his oldest friends may well use Hal-
leck's words in conclusion:
"Green be the turf above thee.
Friend of my better days !
None knew thee but to love thee.
Nor named thee but to praise."
William M. Beauchamp.
WOODS, WATERS AND SEASONS ABOUT
SKANEATELES LAKE
CONTENTS
Proem 5
The Promise of Spring 6
The Opening of the Lake 8
The April Day 10
The TrilHum Ii
Daffodils 12
Our Shores in Summer 14
A Woodland Memory 17
The Head of Our Lake 20
The Lake Bugler 22
Word from Ripley Hill 25
Hilltop and Lakeside 31
The Walk to Ripley Hill 35
The Head of the Lake in Winter 37
The Snow Storm 39
The November Woods 43
Indian Summer 49
The Glen at Appletree Point 51
Lines to (another) Water Fowl .... 54
In After Years 55
A Day from Olden Time 57
Perhaps a Dream 70
October Leaves 73
Memory of One October Day 75
Thinking It Over 78
The End of the Story 80
September 82
The Harvest Moon 84
To My Friends of other Days 86
Appendix 91
From a portrait by himself
PROEM
That Lake we call our own, our lives and homes beside,
Has stirred my heart with many a throb of joy.
And I have longed to tell its beauty far and wide.
And tried to do it since I was a boy.
Swiftly have flown the checkered years, more swiftly
still
They fly to-day, with all my hope unfraught.
And I am dreaming o'er unfinished tasks, until
My heart is heaA^ with the weary thought.
There hope and youth have trod the love-lit shore
And young romance has spied his visions fair.
And sorrow's hallowing shade has trailed the hillsides
o'er.
And breaking hearts have moaned for pity there.
How little for all this the proud world seems to care.
Yet I will hope some heaven sent bird will sing
That Lake's fair fame, in some melodious air.
And wake the heart-beats that its smiles can bring.
THE PROMISE OF SPRING
The ripples play upon the shore
A music all their own;
The sunshine comes through softening haze,
As if the summer shone.
The trees are still, the brooks are free.
The air is soft as May;
The crocus opes one golden cup
To deck the gladsome day.
And yet 'tis March so wild, at times.
With rolling clouds and had.
With shrieking winds and curdling cold.
The snow squall and the gale.
But now the air is still and warm;
The storm-wind howls no more.
The lake, as smooth as glass reflects.
All hues of sky and shore.
The hemlocks glow in sunlit green.
The beech boughs glimmer bright.
The willows put on gleams of gold
In answer to the light.
The bare limbs line their tracery clear
Against the bluest sky,
A bird is there that sings to tell
The golden days are nigh.
Oh March! though Winter yet may wait
On thee with all its sting,
We hail thy brightening sun; we hail
The herald of the spring.
THE OPENING OF THE LAKE
Long had the icy fetters
In silence held the lake.
And long we hoped and waited
To see the waters wake.
The ice long had its beauty.
Its colors and its glow.
From azure skies and sunshine,
And from the virgin snow.
But when the sun of April
Had come with loving ray.
How changed the snowy whiteness
To weird and solemn grayl
At yester-noon unbroken.
The silent ice was there.
But northern winds were stirring
The crisp and sunny air.
"A'lif/ci riH' /mm leaves in .slia.Ir ,ni/.n;»;^ Ihrii .Mll'ri y Inn, "
A WOODLAND MEMORY
I had come to the reabn of the woodland.
When earth was so merry with June,
To the side of a streamlet whose waters
Kept playing their silvery tune.
I had fled from the heated city.
Its din, its struggle and strife.
To lie on the grass, and to gather
New hope for the battle of life.
And blest was it there to be watching
How nature her marvels had wrought.
What wonders of life and of beauty.
To that haimt for the dryads she brought.
For, deep in the heart of that woodland.
It seemed to have been all her care.
Her fairest of forms and of colors
To cluster in myriads there.
17
The rocks were there as she piled them
In the far away days of old.
Now gleaming with Uchens like silver.
And mosses like bronze or hke gold.
And I marked how the strawberry tendrils
Lined the rocks with festoon and wreath.
And the sweetbriar waited to open
Its buds, the wild grape-vine beneath.
There the ferns their young fronds were uncurling,
Osmunda and sweet maiden-hair.
And their robes the proud trees were displaying
New green in the holiday air.
Oft the breeze gently parted the branches
For rays of the sunshine to pass.
To play with the new opened blossoms,
And dance with the waves of the grass.
And the song sparrow gave from the birch tree
His welcome so hearty and sweet.
And the robins were singing all round me.
And the squirrels played up to my feet.
And I watched the hours changing the shadows.
As ever the brook kept its tune.
18
Till fell the deep hush through the woodland.
That belongs to a June afternoon.
So grateful the rest and the healing.
So true to the solitude there.
Till it seemed that a gleam out of heaven
Transfigured the earth and the air.
And there with those peaceful surroundings.
All tranquil and blest did I stay.
Till the sun his last glimmer had given.
And the twilight had faded away.
19
THE HEAD OF OUR LAKE
The rose of sunset on the hill-top lay.
Below the glimmer of the lilac sky.
O'er shaded woods whose green was soft with gray.
And over waters that asleep did lie.
There in the shadow of Glen Haven's hill.
The broad lake, like a mirror clear and true.
Sent back the splendor, luminous and still.
Of land and sky, of every leaf and hue.
It was a gleam of glory and surprise.
Of startling wonder and of peace the while.
As if fond nature, in her gentlest guise
Bestowed on us her blessing with her smile.
But who may tell the fullness gathered there.
The imwonted color and the holy Hght,
When the full moon, all in the golden air.
Led on the peerless march of summer's night.
20
It was the first time that my wandering led
Me to the spot that since I've known so well.
The land so full of charms, so freely spread.
Of hill and wave and fair woods' gentle spell.
Bright was that glimpse which nature deigned to show.
Through years of sunshine, cloud or rain.
It seemed a gleam of more than earthly glow.
That happens once and never comes again.
21
THE LAKE BUGLER
When bright reminders round me glow
Of long past days of old.
It seems to me I ought to know
I lived in the age of gold.
For I was young, and the summer time.
Through months of leaves and flowers.
Had led my way through a genial clime
Of happy suns and showers.
When the sleeping wave and the balmy air
In perfect concert seemed.
When all was wonder and beauty there.
And all like blessings beamed.
The woods were sermons to brain and heart.
And the round of the heavenly frame.
From mom till eve, told me of the part
Of a Power I dared not name.
22
When oft, as I loitered the shore along,
Or rested my oar or sail
To hear the trill of the wood-bird's song.
Or waited the twilight pale;
Oft I would hear, when all was still.
The sound of a bugle sweet.
That seemed in tune with leaf and rill.
One echo loved to repeat.
Sometimes it floated so soft and far
From under the hemlocks dark,
Or over the lake when the evening star
On the twilight lit her spark.
But whether at morn, or eve or noon
It sounded from wood or lake.
In the solitude there its airy tune
Seemed more than song to awake.
Perhaps some critics may smile at me.
Because this moved my heart;
But with nature's aid might it not be
Worth more than higher art?
For it might more deeply stir the breast.
Though not in the classic line.
23
When through it there thrilled a pathos and zest
Like that of "Auld lang syne."
Seldom I saw where the bugler strayed
In the shadow of leaves or glen.
Like Pan of old for his love he played,
And little he cared for men.
And little he cared what was said by those
Who thought him an idler or fool.
One who liked not work and loved to doze
In the shadows sweet and cool.
Yet there he found what they did not find.
In touch with the wave and wood.
That song was solace, and summer was kind.
And nature was true and good.
At last he was old, and swift years told
Their work on his hand and eye.
And he passed to his rest in the churchyard's fold.
With a Ught and faint good bye.
Yet I remember, and well I may
My debt to him declare;
And I'd be ashamed if I did not say
Kind words for old Jack Dare.
24
'^'flic rocks K'crc there, (i\ she pilcil them
In the jar away days aj old."
" \nnu-fni/,s fill-]' iL'ii iii/ii iclu re lu »il<'ck^ • ildik.
i.h a'hcic In-cch tnw^ ^Ih'ic ^n'ttdlv /lun l'n);lit /( v ,/;/,/ hark.
WORD FROM RIPLEY HILL*
Oh, wanderer on Ripley Hill,
Relate the scenes, we pray.
From breaking mom to twilight still
You lived through yesterday 1
For in the city's torrid noon
For other climes we sigh.
And you were in the light of June
And nearer to the sky!
I saw the rosy light of mom
That seemed all life to bring,
And through the incense of the dawn
I heard the wood birds sing.
The sun's clear pathway — pearl and gold-
Was flecked with fleecy bars
That took on colors never told.
As from the flowers or stars.
*See Note 1 of Appendix.
25
I saw the sun lead up the hours
Through azure fields of Ught, [towers,
And warm clouds change to wreaths from
And float away from sight.
I saw the dew-drops gem the sward.
And all Uke diamonds beam.
As roof, and rock, and mossy board
With silver seemed to gleam.
I saw the woodlands on the hills
All soft in that same dew.
And traced the lairs of lakes and riUs
The misty valleys through.
Beyond the far and silvery lake
I saw dim mountains rise.
And in their early colors make
An answer to the skies.
On went the sim in godlike march.
And quenched the pearly gray
Of dewy mom, and heaven's high arch
Took on the blue of day.
Right clear I felt the growing light
That steeped each glowing scene.
26
Without a mar of sound or sight
The earth and heaven between.
The air was clear — the thousand hUls
A score of coiinties hold.
Seemed throbbing, as with joyous thrills
Of all they could have told.
The woods were bright on sunny slopes.
But dark against the glow
Of growing grain, rich with aU hopes
The thankful earth can show.
The leaves had reached their proudest height.
Their full and fairest green.
Without a sign or dream of blight
In all their glossy sheen.
Trees seemed to know the robes they wore.
As in such pride they stood.
Above the hill, the vale, the shore.
In every royal wood.
And from the hills the summer breeze
With grateful fragrance played.
And with the leafage of the trees
A gentle music made.
27
Though early flowers no more were there,
No trillium in the wood.
Yet ferns and columbines — ^how fair —
Bent where the crane's-bill stood.
The memory of the dogwood's snow
Still lingered with me, mid
The woodland shade and streamlet's flow.
Where shyer beauties hid.
On went the sun — the arching blue
Grew deeper in its tone.
And wanner clouds of creamy hue
Above the horizon shone.
You know how come when skies are clear.
As falls the afternoon.
That tone and hue as heaven were near
That we know best in June.
And both were there in pure array.
In richest, tenderest glow.
With fresher life and prouder sway
Than auttunn claims to know.
Around the fields the shadows swept
Of elm or hemlock high.
28
And purple tints through woodlands crept.
And warmer grew the sky.
Without a cloud, with dazzling rays.
The sun in triumph went.
Behind Cayuga's hills ablaze
With his great glory blent.
And as he set while vales were gray.
How shone each hilly spire
Throughout the east, as if it lay
In realms of rosy fire.
I saw his amber rays prolong
The light till twiUght fell.
When sweeter than in morning song
The wood thrush sang farewell.
A little while the evening kept
Its emerald and blue.
Till the gray purple shadows crept
The heavenly spaces through.
The day had passed forevermore.
And as I tent -ward went,
I saw above the western shore
The moon's young crescent bent.
29
I ne'er could tell the rounding run
Of changes every hour.
Of light and hue, of air and sun
On turf, and brook and bower.
Or fragrance of the siunmer breeze
From leagues of flowery ground.
From sunlit heights or dreamy vales
The wide horizon round.
The gorgeous turns of shade and gleam.
Their high inspiring spell.
Their lift to higher thought or dream
I dare not try to tell.
But read my rhymes by memory's sight
And fancy's kindest snule;
You'll see far more than I can write.
Forgetting me the while I
30
HILL-TOP AND LAKESIDE
Away from the hill-top and down the wild glen.
How stream the bright waters like silver — and then
Leap free from their ledges with rainbow and spray.
And never forgetting their song on the way.
And sometimes they wander where hemlocks are dark.
Or where beech trees show proudly their bright leaves
and bark;
Where the grapevines and creepers their foliage twine
And the cardinal flower and the jewel weed shine.
And oft have I strolled there, the wonder to find.
And the beauty that basks there when Summer is kind;
When the form of each leaf and the hue of each flower.
Seemed new every time as they charmed every hour.
And I knew what it was when the June time was nigh.
And the sun in his glory rode peerless and high;
When the warmth of his lustre the shadows would hold.
As he sent through the green leaves his arrows of gold.
31
The star of the morning I've seen on the dawn,
When the scents of the dew-spangled woodlands are
borne
On the soft silent air when the lake is so still.
And the new light is growing on homestead and hill.
Do you know what it is on the hill-top to stand.
And mark aU the glow of our summer-Ut land;
When the hills lift their crests the horizon around.
Till they seem to be there without number or bound?
And pleasant it is to watch the free play
Of the light-flying cloud through the year's longest day;
When all nature's greens in the landscape are set.
And the sky is so blue and the lake bluer yet.
I have heard the brook sing through the brief summer
night.
When the stars glimmer dim and the fuU moon is bright;
When the leaves of the pines and the poplars will make
The low solemn music the night winds awake.
And there have I wandered, from Spring tmto Spring,
And learnt aU the charms that the seasons will bring.
From the time that the trilUimi blooms on the gray.
Till the ferns are all withered and bare every spray.
32
"I hi Ica/Ic.ss icood.s and is^lctiminc miou-
fn this midu'inter day.'"
f^^.n^m£^
III MiuiDiii's 1^1 nic iuiii hi:,ht."
There, too, have I seen, when October has turned
The green to all hues that in sunset are burned.
How the gold and the crimson fall fast to the ground;
When the hills are all veUed and the wind has no sound.
And then, how the late rains of Autumn will fill
The torrents that shake the bleak sides of the hill;
When the clouds, like dark billows, by wild winds are
toss'd.
And the long nights are coming, with starlight and frost.
And days will there be when the sunshine is bright.
And the new snow robes earth in its mantle of white;
When the hemlocks lift up their green foreheads so high.
And tint their sharp shadows with blue from the sky.
I would I could tell of the music I've heard.
From the fall of the wave to the song of the bird;
Of the colors that came twixt the mom and the night —
From the glow of the May till the Fall's mellow light.
What birds would be there when long was the day
That lighted the woodland with color and play;
And there did I learn how the eagle would sail
Through the light summer air or in teeth of the gale.
33
And thousands of things that were lessons to me —
From the dewdrop of mom to the giant oak tree;
From the cloud and the wave to the sun that gives birth
To all life, and all beauty and music of earth.
But the time may have come when I wander no more —
Yet memory follows the hill and the shore.
As she dreams of the beauties of earth and the spheres.
And "glory on high" is the anthem she hears.
34
THE WALK TO RIPLEY HILL
By Three Old Friends.
You'll not forget that summer day.
As skies were fair and winds were still.
When happy as the day was bright.
We trod the top of Ripley Hill.
It was a day and trip to bring
Again the fire and zest of youth.
As if no change or chance were there
And cloudless life was there in truth.
How fair and far the wavy line
Of hills the bright horizon round.
The hills and vales with woodlands crowned
And surmy gleams on teeming ground.
We saw Oneida's waters blue.
While far above their blue, there broke
The nameless hills in waves of pearl,
Undimmed by Solvay's sunlit smoke.
35
How fair the flowers that there we culled^
The mallows and the golden rod;
How rich the hemlock's tinted shade.
The buckwheat bloom and starry sod.
And many another flower was there.
The asters, pink, and white and blue.
And yellow grain and tasseled com.
To crown the year in triumph true.
And many a time we'll dream it o'er.
The misty vales where waters lie.
The bounds of many a crystal lake
And solemn pines that cut the sky.
And many a charm I carmot count.
And many a cheer I cannot tell.
When all our tramp from lake to hill
Was merry as a marriage bell.
Should we be here when winter comes.
With aU its cloud and gloom and chill.
Perhaps we'll know how old we are.
But we were young on Ripley Hill.
36
THE HEAD OF THE LAKE IN WINTER
On leafless woods and gleaming snow
In this midwinter day.
From mellow skies, the sunny glow
Is soft and warm as May.
It tempts from out their hives the bees;
It wakes the brooks to song;
And scarce is felt the drifting breeze.
The silent shores along.
Upon the hiUs a glory lies.
And hues no summer knows.
That melt afar in pearly skies
And tint the very snows.
How strange the peace, the warmth, the light.
Where late the icy blast
Went howling through the deadly night.
And tossed the drifts so fast.
37
And, what may not the morrow bring?
Not twice a winter sees
Such days as this, with smiles of spring
For boys, or brooks or bees.
38
THE SNOW STORM
The year was at its close.
Without its blasts and snows.
And the brown earth was bare;
December had, it seemed.
Forgot its chance and dreamed
In Indian summer air.
The last day of the year
Broke rosy, calm and clear.
And skies were blue all day.
The lake imruffled slept.
And all reflections kept
Of earth's and sky's display.
But when the sun had set.
The waves began to fret
With moans that never ceased;
And though winds scarce did blow.
The heavy clouds came low
From out the black northeast.
39
Then came a sifted snow.
At first so light and slow.
But soon in fiercer flight.
And, save as sang each flake.
No sound whate'er did make
Through watches of the night.
And fast it fell when dawn
Led up the New Year's mom,
In virgin white arrayed,
And earth at last below
Its dome of misty snow
Was pure and spotless made.
StiU faster did it f aU,
Hiding the roofs and all
That late was duU and gray.
And every road and path.
Stubble and aftermath
Deep hid and trackless lay.
No trace of man was seen
The roadside fines between.
Nor word from anywhere
Of trouble or of cheer.
Of world wide hope or fear
Came through the silent air.
40
"Ami cirr] mud mid l^:illi,
Sllihldr iiiid iijtrniialh
Deep bid ami liarkU'\.\ liiy.
"'J'l/i' Siics arc h([)i and chill ilu. an ,
The cloudy arc i:,ra v and loic."
Then every tree and wood
Robed and enchanting stood
In leafage full and white.
Soft in the hazy noon.
White as the leaves when June
Floods the long days with light.
When nightfall came at last.
And the wild storm was past
And snow was growing gray.
Low in the west a beam
Of open sky did gleam.
With green and silver ray.
When the new moon had set
The sky put on its jet.
And gone the clouds' last bars.
What nameless radiance came.
With flash of light and flame
Of all the winter stars.
Had we e'er dreamed before
Of such supernal lore
In all the star depths there?
Orion grand, the Dogstar's pride.
And thousands shining bright beside,
So startling and so fair?
41
Next day the lake did lie
Far bluer than the sky.
And the far moiintains kept
Their winter foUage rare.
O'er the broad valleys where
Their pearly shadows swept.
And from our hiU-top's bound
Gleamed the horizon round.
Beauty without alloy;
In the clear blue and white
An opal glow and hght
Steeped the whole scene in joy.
Oh I day of tint and glow.
Of stainless sky and snow.
Whatever came before.
Could aught of sea or land
In higher beauty stand.
Or tell of glory more?
42
THE NOVEMBER WOODS
The trees are bare and chill the air.
The clouds are gray and low.
And withered ferns and fallen leaves
Are waiting for the snow.
Another look from leafy Jtine's
The dim woods have to-day.
What time the leaves of fullest green
With summer winds would play.
I miss and mourn that vanished time.
That green without a stain.
The hues that came through shade and light.
And summer's gentle rain.
And yet, though dark are sky and earth
And drear the woods and chiU,
There comes a something from of old
That moves me with its thrill ;
43
That makes me ask from whence I came
And whither do I go ?
And ask of all this whirling world
Secrets I'll never know.
Even now I ask, "Am I awake?"
And look afar, but no reply
Comes from the wide and watching earth.
Nor from the arching sky.
Oh, mystery of life! I hear
Its questions far away.
And rest content with woodland lore
That I can scan to-day.
And welcome woods in shade or shine.
In summer's pride and light.
Or in November's guise of gray,
Ere comes the winter's white.
The solemn hills in cahn repose
To dreaming seemed to take.
Were softened in the same array
And mirrored in the lake.
The lake that hardly yet has found
A peer the lakes among.
44
Nor yet can tell how clear its wave
The words of any tongue.
And o'er it bent the colored wood.
All mirrored back as fair.
While rose the scent of yellow ferns
And whitened maiden's hair.
What solitude that glory was.
Though it stretched many a mile !
Through all I was alone, nor met
One human face or smile.
I looked for Triton's wreathed horn.
And wondered why had he
Not chosen that green grottoed lake
His latest haunt to be.
Men say that he and Pan are dead.
And hold their love in scorn.
And dryads, if they yet exist,
"In tangled thickets mourn."
Yes, solitude indeed I no sound
Of life at all I heard.
Then came soft murmurs of the brooks.
But not a song of bird.
45
A chipmunk might have stirred the leaves,
But all life else was stilled.
Some birds had fled from winter's dread;
The rest perhaps were killed.
But still I loitered while the leaves
Fell silently as snow.
Till through them shone the setting sim
To add a deeper glow.
And then I felt the twihght fall
In waves of deeper shade.
Till all the woods were dim and dark
With some bright tints inlaid.
Above the faint Uned eastern hill.
And in the lilac haze
The rising moon could hardly give
A promise of her blaze.
But nearer came the deepening dusk.
And then her soaring light
Told other things, as wide she flung
Her silver through the night.
How well I marked her stately march
And to her glory bowed.
46
As o'er the lake's lost surface high
She swept without a cloud.
No wave is seen; no surface gleam;
No break nor ripple mars;
The depths reveal another moon
And all the silent stars.
Afloat in space I seemed to be.
While far the earth appears.
My boat a magic craft, to bear
Me onward through the spheres.
What brought me back? A bird's far cry.
That nearer was the same.
Yet in the lonely night his voice
More like a friend's became.
And then I heard a church bell toll
How time had passed away.
And how the hours were fleeting fast
To meet another day.
Ohl best of all October days !
The crown of all the year,
I turn to you in this dark time,
With winter wailing here I
47
So sweet thy peace, so pure thy light,
So reverent thy air I
It seemed as if thou must have been
In Heaven's own deepest care.
48
" 1 (1, .snllilhli III, h 1,1 ' 11,1 \,nilld
I ij llj, ,ll ,lll 1 ll,:,ii,l:'
•/■/// ,lll III, l,',H„ly Ul, ,!llll ,111.1 ,l,uk.
I ;//; M'»/r /-;;-/;/ //),/. iil/,ll,l."
INDIAN SUMMER
It may have the name of November,
Yet here are the halcyon days.
And what joy of the Indian summer
Appears in its mellowing haze I
The nearly bare woods on the mountains
Are glowing in color and light.
Beneath the soft blue of the heavens
And clouds of the tenderest white.
And from under the grand old hemlocks
And over the lake's sunUt shore
A wonder and beauty are Uving
That startle me more and more.
No breath on the watery mirror
Nor shadow of gloom or of fear.
Then I reverently say, and surely,
God's love and His peace are both here.
49
This glory alight all around me
Is it but the weather's bright glance?
Is it nothing more than a meeting
Of atoms and forces by chance?
Ah, me ! but the books are all telling
Of matter, and law and force.
And naught but my wishes can call me
To dream of beauty's true source.
So be it. I'll keep on still wishing
For the faith such dreaming may bring;
Away with all else that is teaching
Betrayal in everything.
50
THE GLEN AT APPLETREE POINT*
Upon a June's fair mom, by leafy shore
And blooming field, our merry boat did go
On sunny waves, without a sail or oar.
Leaving a foam-white wake, that well did show
Her fairy speed against the gentle flow
Of summer's breeze; and soon she was anear
The slaty beach o'er which the plane-trees grow
And stately woods, where the gray walls appear
Of that wild darkling gorge, where fall the waters sheer.
Then did we climb the wooded hill, to see
The waters foaming from the summer wood
Over the shelving rocks, to leap so free
Into a chasm deep and dark, where brood
A cavern's shadows, echoing, wild and rude.
Behind the white gleam of the hurrying shower
That fills with mist the roaring solitude.
And rain-bowed flashes, silvered leaf and flower.
And all that might be there of beauty and of power.
See Note 2 of Appendix.
51
Above — the limestones' frowning steps appear.
White in the sun, and then a golden brown
Where the wood colored waters, amber clear.
Run smooth and swift before their plunge adown.
Their sounding pathway, with a blow to drown
The leaf's light music and the woodbird's song.
Through the dark alleys that the hemlocks crown.
Whirling and seething, full, and free and strong.
Through channels strait or wide, the leaf clad banks
along.
Oft would the rush of waters make again
A foaming rapid, white with whistling spray.
Crowding and swirling with an echoing train
Of water voices, showing, 'neath their way
The slanting ledges, where stem forms display
The toil of sculpturing ages, from the birth
Of this old world, not yet grown sad or gray.
But beauteous still and full of summer's mirth.
Ah, who can tell aright the sounds and sights of earth!
And then through rippling shallows, swift and clear.
Would stones and pebbles gleam, with every hue
Of steel or silver, or like gems appear.
Topaz or emerald, but all blended true.
And mellowed by the gold that glimmered thro'
52
The lucent water, bounded by the spray
Of fall or rapid, tinted with the blue
Of June's own sky, all mingling with the play
Through all, of sun rays bright — that force their flash-
ing way.
Our day was sununer's best and longest one.
The stream at fullest of its glow and rhyme.
No leaves were ever brighter 'neath the sun.
Nor was there on the earth more genial clime.
Nor more of beauty, nor a cheerier chime;
And yet we saw that stream but for a day.
While it had kept its course through weary time.
From blooming May to winter's robe of grey, [play.
Through countless centuries— and through all time will
No man may tell, whatever power he hath.
The clustered charms that greet the ear or eye
Along that torrent's bright resounding path.
The leap of waters from their platforms high.
The pools that flash the lustre of the sky.
The gleam of bird wings and the endless chime.
The mottling leaf shades as they dance or fly.
Or solemn music of the early prime.
Caught from the heavenly choirs — before the count
of time.
63
LINES TO (ANOTHER) WATER FOWL
The sun has set, the shadows fall
As fades the rosy light.
And hues of parting day are all
Now deepening into night.
Yet clear outlined in darkling air
A lonely wild fowl keeps
His onward flight, safe guided there
Through heaven's unfathomed deeps.
And it was many a year ago
That Bryant saw the same.
And sang, as he alone could do,
A song for time and fame.
Through all the world that song has gone.
While thousands silent die.
And men stiU see his lonely bird
Float on the twilight sky.
54
IN AFTER YEARS*
On Fall Brook Point, their last low tune
The waves have ceased to play.
And in the east now comes the moon
To warm and gild the gray.
And now that moon, more clear than gold.
Goes up the star dim night.
And rock, and wave, and hill-top bold
Are lit with all her light.
The earth's so still, the sky's so bright.
The hours all plead to stay.
And in its prime and pride the night
Seems yet more fair than day.
On nights like this, in years long gone.
Oft had I trod this shore
When Ufe was bright as spring's new mom.
With dreams that come no more.
See Note 3 of Appendix.
55
I see the moon and stars' bright beams
That from the waves are borne.
And hear the far off songs of streams
And of the years we mourn.
The pines so tall, whose boughs upreach
As if to touch the sky.
The moonbeam bright that gems the beach.
Are all of times gone by.
And though no change can here be told
In earth, or wave or tree.
When all seem as they were of old,
What change has come to me I
56
•■lilll -.till I IntlcicJ, while lIlL /lUI't
/•"(■// Mlcntlv us MIOTV."
„>5|?*^
" ik'^hli II hiki u'lutsc every hiiicci tiiiil a^lailc
Ki 1^1 tiiih uilli iiNi.uf th,il till iLiihii muih .'
A DAY FROM OLDEN TIME*
I
Now will I sing, though no one hear or care.
That time of true life in the ancient shade
Of fair trees, gladdened by the summer air.
Beside a lake whose every bower and glade
Kept time with music that the waters made.
While every leaf as yet looks new and bright.
The wood aisles thick with many a flower, arrayed
With all in earth and sky to charm the sight.
And fuU the July moon, and gentle every night.
2
And we were friends long tried who gathered there.
Who met together after many years.
And paths apart and weather foul or fair.
Who'd fought life's battle with its hopes and fears.
And well had known man's lot of smiles and tears.
* See Note 4 of Appendix.
57
And all had learnt that hopes are often vain;
Nor cared we then, but thought of all that cheers.
And lived once more the bliss, forgot the pain.
As memory lit the hours and we were young again.
3
We were all bom that land locked sea beside.
And all had lived there in life's opening time.
And there had grown in us a love that tied
Our heart strings to it; thus in manhood's prime
Where'er we strayed in near or distant clime.
Our thoughts would turn there with a longing dear.
Till when we felt life's first and bleaching rime.
As we had hoped and dreamed in spite of fear.
Our meeting came at last, though after many a year.
4
All through those years that noble lake had lain
With little tribute, save its lovers' thought.
It moaned in winter and rejoiced again.
As shone each miracle the summer wrought.
It flashed the sunlight, and the moonlight caught
Upon its ripples; change of lustrous skies
And starry nights were in their sports.
And rosy moms and all the twilight's dyes
Were bright as ever there, though far from lover's eyes.
58
5
We thought that lake perhaps the best that came
From His creating hand who beauty made.
We claimed no poet silent could have strayed
Amid its arbors, waiting in their shade
To catch the echoes there, that faintly ring
From song of morning stars, or when were laid
The rock's foundations; all would make him sing
The eternal memories there that aU around it cling.
6
The place we chose for camp we knew full well.
For in youth's time we found the inviting shore.
And our yotmg eyes caught quick its witching spell.
A grove of beech trees there flung on its grassy floor
Its moving shadows, dancing each other o'er;
Near by a brook came from the hill-top's height,
With lace-like cascades, polished rocks before.
To a clear pool, with jeweled floor beneath its ripples
Hght,
Then swept into the lake with glance and murmur
bright.
7
And there we were amid the boundless wood.
Below the summer skies, above the winding shore.
69
Among the ferns and flowers, where o'er them stood
The ancient trees with leaves of bounteous store.
The beech and maple, oak and sycamore,
Basswood and chestnut — pillars of a hall.
With springing arches o'er their shaded floor;
Himdreds of others, graceful, hthe and tall, [them all.
And pines and hemlocks dark, which towered above
8
Just then had passed Jime's young and greenest glow.
And July's somberer green was in its place.
With tone like thought, as if it meant to show
A touch of pathos in its milder grace.
Telling the flight of time, as men may trace
The warning of the downward hurrying year.
And seemed so near akin to our dim fated race.
All still and waiting, as intent to hear
The footfalls of the gods, who sure were very near.
9
AU made us think of things we'd seen of old.
In spring's new glow or autmnn's waning Ught.
That tulip tree-top one great flower of gold.
Brightest of aU there, though all else was bright.
Hiding a song bird in its ghstening height.
Whose song was boldest of all songs, I thought.
60
The sweetest, greatest, tenderest; but no sight
Showed him, that greatest songster; long I sought
Through the long aisles, but not a glance I caught.
10
In April once, when dull and chill the air.
There came a great rain on the thawing snow.
Then down a gully, through the forest bare.
There came a sudden and a hurrying flow
Of roaring water, with its wintry glow,
Seething with foam and flinging angry spray;
Whirling great bowlders in its undertow.
Rising above its banks to find new way.
Making another point, as if in reckless play.
II
Now must be told the kind of life we knew
Below the leaves and by the water side :
Care of our tents and little more to do.
To air our beds and provender provide.
To gather wood for fire at ev'ning tide.
Before our studies or our tramps began.
To read the fossiled rocks, to learn their ordered plan^
To make new trails, and know where streamlets ran.
To find new leaves and flowers, and every wondrous
thing to scan.
61
12
And there we marked the sturdy height and girth
Of great tree trunks, with grooved and spotted bark.
So Hghtly springing from the mossy earth.
Each one so true in every racial mark :
The young birch shining with its sunlit spark.
The beech tree's bronze and gray, all flecked with white.
The plane tree's shelly rind, the black oak's dark.
The ebn's pale gray, the maple's mottling bright.
And all the rest whose features I might tell, if there
were room to write.
13
We had a trail that we, ourselves, had found
Up to our hdl-top, where cleared land and farms
Could there be seen the whole horizon round.
All brilUant 'neath the summer sky, with charms
Of homes and orchards, and spicy balms
Of com and grain, great contrast to our bosky trees;
Under the beech trees, far from earth's alarms.
Where we could stroll, or dream in full content [bent.
Upon the things on which our eyes and hearts were
And who were we who kept such holiday?
One was a lawyer deep and widely learned
62
In other things than law, in olden lay.
Science and history, and had fairly earned
A waiting honor in the Bench, but then had turned
With us his eyes and thought to Nature's book
Open around us, to the flowers that burned
With colored fire, and to the leaves that shook
With breezy music, and to the lessons of the singing
brook.
15
The next was one we called our chaplain there,
A doctor of divinity, well versed in various lore
Of woods and fields, whose zeal and labor rare
Had taught him secrets of the flowers, and more
Than books could teach, and secrets of the wave and
shore;
An author too, searcher of legends gray.
Who told of Hiawatha long before
Longfellow dreamed his great immortal lay.
Of Indian life and lore so like to pass away.
16
A painter was the third one of our band,
Sketcher and painter to the very heart
Of nature, loyal in thought, in eye and hand.
63
To what was truth and beauty, and his art
Was ahnost song; but then he took his part
With us in Natiu-e's school — the vocal bowers.
The sun and cloud play, and the tints that dart
From glossy waves through dayHgJit's joyous hours.
And rainbow colors following summer showers.
17
My standing there were hard for me to see.
But as a dreamer with a knack for rhyme.
My friends declared that I must laureate be
Of our fair camp, but seeing a steep climb
To any worthy height, I quite forbore that time
All thought of verse amid our pleasures there;
But kept within my heart their gentle chime.
Resolved some time to start a laureate air.
Perhaps to wake a smile or raise the critic's hair.
18
Nor had we then forgot the thrills and joys
That come in contests with the wind and wave.
That made us welcome as we did, when boys.
The summer white caps, or the winds that rave
As oiur sea-worthy boat — all trim and brave.
So like a blooded steed, so mettled, yet so kind.
64
•' Amini!^ tin jcril^ am/ jlnirns, h:hii: n' ri tin in .si, hj, I
Til, aiuiiiil Ircrs, u-ilh Iniv, ■. oj hoiiiil.oiis ..l,nc"
J Ih bccih li,c'.^ I.inii:. ,111,! -)i;r, ,ill ,l,,^k,_,.l iciili i,hit.
Cuts through the rolling waves, flinging white spray-
On the green water, leaving far behind
A seething wake of foam with emerald tintings lined.
19
What skies we had in all their play of hght.
Almost as lustrous as the sun's own beam!
White clouds that climb the zenith's bluest height.
Whose forms are infinite, while their shadows seem
Warm blue or opal; then the dazzling gleam
Darts from the lining of the thxuiders' lair.
And then the changes swift as moving dream.
Till all became at last as clear and fair.
As if infinity itself its last veil lifted there.
20
And we would see the gray steel light of dawn.
With the white morning star, look o'er the eastern hill.
With coming rose and gold to hail the rising mom.
When earth, and air and wave seemed awed and still.
As waiting for the godhke sun to fill
The world with glory, while the glad hours rolled
Toward the evening clear and calm, until
The western skies put on another gold.
And lines of crimson bars the twilight's farewell told.
65
21
What awe was there on those clear July nights
When oiir great sun his royal rest had won.
And came the hundred milhon hghts
Of twinkling stars, each one a mighty sun
And peer of ours, with each his course to run
Throughout eternity; aU these revealed to men
By darkness only, a great thought to stun
Our mortal sense : if light so blinds us, then
Can we trust aught that comes within our ken?
22
And there we saw the star that Job of old
Had seen, and knew its ruddy hght.
And of his wonder, too, Hipparchus told
Two thousand years ago, to us twice bright;
There too was Vega and the dazzling Ught
Of constellations through the boundless skies.
And the thronged Milky Way, misty and white.
Where oft a meteor through the ether flies.
And we might see ere dawn Orion's host arise.
23
And times might come forbidding us to roam.
When gathering clouds and vapors made us fain
66
To hold the shelter of our canvas home:
What if it rained? think ye we would complain
At the soft blessing of the summer rain?
That brought such fragrance from the brightened earth.
And filled the green with richer green again.
When new waked blossoms glistened as with mirth.
And seemed the world arrayed in memory of its birth?
One afternoon we reveled in the roar
Of one short storm that came with whistling speed.
When crowding billows hurried on the shore.
Each with its foam crest like a frantic steed.
When o'er the prairie breaks the wild stampede;
When the fierce lightning led the direful fray.
When trees and hills were quivering like a reed
Beneath the low cloud in its black array.
With aU storm trumpets wild, and red artUlery's play.
25
So, in one charm or other went the hours.
So went the phases of each merry day.
So hailed we both the sunshine and the showers,
Untn each evening brought the twihght's gray
Or the clear moon would drive the clouds away;
67
Then by our camp fire or the moonht shore.
We sat and Ustened in our dreamy way
To any tale from past or fancy's store.
From legend or romance, or song's exhaustless lore.
26
Sometimes as seekers would we there rehearse [be
Old questions from the stars, where has been, what will
The end of man? what meant the imiverse?
Vain all for us at least, and then content were we
To be on earth again beside our summer sea.
Telling our simple tales and all in homely lore.
Pleased with them, only if they did not bore.
Of things that we had known or heard around our shore.
27
All things will end — ^the good as well as ill.
At last there came amid the morning's gray.
And its white silence and its dewy chill.
The end foreseen of our bright holiday.
That like a dream so soon had passed away;
Nor could we help upon our lingering start.
To feel a dread that hope could not gainsay.
The doubt or fear oft whispered to the heart.
When friends long tried with dim forebodings part.
68
28
At last we launched upon our homeward way.
And soon the south wind blew, and swiftly went
Our boat before it with a seething spray.
Too fast for us in all our discontent.
So loath were we to take what fate had sent.
For seemed our point to beckon to us still.
And all the leaves seemed joining in lament.
While mournful rang the music of the rill.
And shadows dimmed the shore and veiled the distant
hill.
69
PERHAPS A DREAM
One wood of all, beside our Lake,
I prize the most, and watch with fears,
Where grand old trees still downward shake
Their leafy odors there and make
The shade they've made a thousand years.
And I have known that wood so long
And trod so oft its fragrant shade,
That for all things that there belong
A love has grown in me so strong.
That come what will, it cannot fade.
And, when I see from moss and fern.
The giant trees spring high in air.
And far above me bend and turn
Their blended arches, I discern
A glance of love returned me there.
But I must tell what I did see
One day, as I was roaming there.
While autumn kept the summer glee.
70
And color from each flashing tree.
Like fire or gold, was everywhere.
The day it was of all the year.
So warm and still, so decked and bright.
You would have thought the gods were near.
That nymph or dryad might appear
And revel in the tinted light.
And all at once, in stateliest mien.
One that I knew before me stood;
I knew him by his rosy sheen.
His reedy pipes, his garland green.
Old Pan was in that glowing wood.
He turned to me; his godlike look
Half jest, half pity, seemed to say,
"Weak, vain and mortal!" but he took
A seat beside the rtmning brook.
And raised his reedy pipes to play.
He played me many a charming tvme
That woke all woodland memories.
The songs that fill the woods in June,
The laugh of waters 'neath the moon.
The sky notes in the hemlock trees.
71
And what beside, I cannot tell.
As through the listening aisles it rung;
All living things were in its spell
And wondered, as it rose and fell.
And everything seemed glad and young.
He went, I knew not how, but long
This music thrilled my charmed ear.
Its mirth and pathos, sweet and strong.
Those echoes of immortal song.
Which yet I wait and long to hear.
72
"Svi: hole jin»i till iviiiiilliniil alle
Stiaim-. till /mil, I liiizi"
wEr
1
1> .1
'■/•,/s/ /lie rif^, i:,',/ /,;ilr^ un jjic}i
I think nj the siimnii-r day.''
'■Wlirii n:r;,;liii£^ hill.iu'^ liiin-irJ to till' sliorc.
luicli -a'ltli its joam crc^t, lit;,' ,i jnuitii: steed.
But change, not chance, is nature's rule.
Nor further may we scan;
If leaf and flower may bud and fade.
It is the same with man.
The bud starts fair; then comes a blight.
Later or ere its time;
Man knows at last he cannot keep
For long his lusty prime.
And, now, before I say, "Good bye,"
Or coiuit my scanty sheaves.
Here let me lay for praise or blame
Some of my Autumn leaves.
81
SEPTEMBER
The summer had no day more bright.
Nor sky of purer blue
Than this, that seems to have a hght
That summer rarely knew.
And when such days are here the while.
So soft, and still and clear,
I call September's look and smile
The sweetest of the year.
Though keep the woods their green so well,
Yet yellow leaves and red.
And golden-rod and asters tell
The summer's time has fled.
Yes, fied; and Autumn comes apace;
His frost has left its mark.
How earlier fades the twihght's grace
And sooner comes the dark.
And so, to-night, the harvest moon
Will tell how speed away
82
The gentle hours, and warn how soon
Will earth be brown and gray.
And well I know how blest and sweet
The summer was to me.
And I must mourn her passage fleet.
Whatever now there be.
I hailed her coming with the May,
In June I kept her side.
Beneath the woodland's leafy play
Or on the sunlit tide.
Ah! who can tell of what I found
In color, light, and song.
The bounty without stint or bound
Through daylight clear and long?
How well I knew and loved her then.
And now her memory lights
The shade and gloom that threaten when
Are near the winter nights.
Enough I I hail this precious time
Nor care for aught beside.
I'll dream it is the summer's prime
In this September-tide.
83
THE HARVEST MOON
The sun has set in a cloudless west.
And the crimson turns to gray.
After his race through the nameless blue
Of a soft September day.
And over the eastern hill and trees.
And back of the tall church spire.
The harvest moon looms clear from earth.
Full round with gentle fire.
Not a ripple the lake's broad surface stirs.
Where every form and hue
Of hills, and trees, and color of sky
Are copied so clear and true.
The soxmds of toil and strife of men
Have ceased to trouble the night.
And the cricket's hum and the fall of leaves
Seem toned to the gentle light.
84
Till not a color of day is left.
And the moon upon her throne
Is paling the stars with the wonder bright
Of her splendor proud and lone.
What marvel of beauty is there, which tells
Of peace that Heaven bestows
On the weary earth, with its hopes and fears.
And its weight of human woes.
Like a blessing the silver light will Ue
As sweet as the summer mom.
On field, and home, and sleepy wave.
On ripened leaves and com.
And yet a sigh from my heart will come.
And is it sadness, or glee?
Is it shadow or light that is at my side
And moves on the shore with me?
For I think of the many harvest moons
That have waned since I was a boy.
And of many a friend long gone, who kept
With me the season's joy.
85
TO MY FRIENDS OF OTHER DAYS
Do you ever think of the days long gone.
Of youth and its brighter side,
When we used to sail on the lake so oft
And camp by its limpid tide?
Ere the cottagers came, or the steamboat ran.
When the points were wild and lone.
And every brook, and rock and fall
Seemed just as they were our own?
When Fall Brook Point, with its beechen grove.
And the Staghom's* chestnut trees.
And their sod, and shade, and welcome warm
Were free as the waves and breeze?
But the shores are changed as well as we.
And many who joined us then
Have left us here to struggle and dream.
Gray haired and sobered men.
♦See Note 5 of Appendix.
86
I know you do the memory keep
Of those great days of yore.
Of the olden glories of lake and sky
And the lights that shine no more.
How wondrous fair is the picture yet.
The first I had of the glow
Of the sunset light on the Spafford hills
And the glassy lake below.
'Twas on the fairest of August eves.
Beyond the pencil or pen.
And a light was there, and color and calm,
I have never seen since then.
Are the skies as blue or the clouds as bright
As they used to be, when we
Were used to row by the ferny cliffs,
Or battle the emerald sea?
What a lovely tint that emerald was;
Do we find it there to-day?
Are the trees as tall, or the leaves as fair.
Or the rocks such tender gray?
Did not the summer seem young as we,
As full of hope without fear?
87
And age and winter so far away.
They gave no warnings drear?
How sweet were the hues and breath of mom.
And the rise of the godhke sun.
When birds would sing and flowers would shine
As they never since have done.
What glory was in the full round moon.
As her silver steeped the hills.
And in silence of starry nights that heard
But the murmur of the rills I
The stars were keener and brighter then.
And nearer the earth they swept.
They had no hard nor fateful eyes.
As their rhythmic march they kept.
Is there still the zest in the tossing waves.
In the song of the waterfall?
In the mountain climb, the breezy height
And the shade of the hemlocks tall?
Or in thousands of gentle sights, that were
In wave, and sky and land;
In leaves and flowers; in brooks and birds.
And Nature's open hand?
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■■Thv r.irk^ thai nj/ni .termed .
Hail culm U'luni ami iicic."
«'".)',
"I'lirn^ /III /(7v;,s' Uin'r ;/(>i/ii(j /minis irrrr ii /irnrli n'/.
( Ks//i II /kIii anil sirrrf i/iii iili ii-liii I'r."
Then here's to you, who roamed so oft
Our famous lake with me.
Who camped so often on its shore
And loved its merry sea.
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APPENDIX
NOTES BY THE REV. W. M. BEAUCHAMP, S. T. D.
1. Ripley Hill. The verses on Ripley Hill were written on a
visit tliere with Mr. George K. Knapp and the Rev. W. M. Beau-
champ, S. T. D., of Syracuse, N.Y., August 18, 1897. This hill is
about a mile southeast of Spaflford village, and commands a mag-
nificent view, with the valleys of Skaneateles and Otisco lakes in
the middle distance. It is 1982 feet above the sea, and was long
considered the highest point in Onondaga county, but a later sur-
vey showed that Fabius HUl was 2020 feet high.
2. ApplETree Point. These verses are the memorial of a
visit to this point on Skaneateles lake, made by Mr. Barrow, June
10, 1901, with the Rev. Dr. Beauchamp of Syracuse, and Mr. E.
Reuel Smith, of New York, whose summer home is in Skaneateles.
The trio had been old companions on the lake, and though each
one was over seventy, all did some stiff climbing. Appletree Point
is now known as Newhope Landing, and had its early name from
an Indian appletree, growing upon it a century ago. On the large
stream which has its outlet here are two notable falls, each about
70 feet in height. Carpenter's fall is at the site of an old mill, about
a mile from the shore. The Greycliff fall is about half way, and in
the thick woods. The ravine is very picturesque.
91
3. Fall Brook Point. This beautiful spot, now occupied
by Mr. Holden's cottage, had its appropriate name from the cas-
cade quite near the shore. It was a favorite stopping place in early
days.
4. A Day from Oldbn Time. This is of a composite charac-
ter, but as all the campers, except the author, are still living, no
account need be given of them. It is a good picture of camp Ufe.
5. The Staghorn. This point was an early and favorite resort
for artists and geologists, and is now occupied by the Rev. Dr. Cal-
throp of Syracuse. The coralline formation, from which it has this
inappropriate name, extends a long distance along the shore to the
south, the innumerable fossils being mostly of the Cyathophyllum or
cup coral. These resemble the horns of a cow, rather than those of
the stag. It was on a return from this spot that we cut oiu- names
in the hard and flat rocks, in 1850, below HaU's Landing, adding a
fresh date October 11, 1900. For many years the log cabin, near
this latter spot, was often occupied by Mr. Barrow, and there many
of his verses were composed. It was there that he wrote the verses
addressed to me, October, 1899, and entitled "At the Log Cabin
Fireside." As these are not given here I quote the first and last
verses :
"Once more at the old log cabin,
Beside its sunlit shore,
I bless the breath of October
As oft I have done before.
*******
For oft and long together
We've lived these scenes among,
From times when woods and waters,
And hills themselves seemed young."
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