Lying on her bed at midnight,
Lonely Granny Chaugham murmured,
So her children have reported,
"Mother, I am weary waiting
For a sight of you and father
And my home beside the river—
All the vines above the door-way,
All the flowers in the garden—
Looking back I now am weeping
In my hut on Ragged Mountain.
"Follows here the gloomy shadow
From our mansion by the river,
And the angry words of father
In my ears are ever ringing—
Still I see your sorrow, Mother,
On the day my heart was broken
By the angry words of father,
'Never shall you wed this beggar.'
Mother! Mother! Have you missed me?
Then in answer came a whisper,
From the darkness came a whisper,
Moving like a darker shadow,
Like a gloomy thought of sorrow
In the blackness of the night-time,
Making all the world seem hopeless,
Speaking sadly in the darkness
"Lo! I'm dead and long departed
To the land beyond the sunset."
36. FEEBLE GREW HER AGED FOOTSTEPS.
Tis ever thus when hope is gone,
Feeble grow the lagging foot-steps
And slow the hands that carry on,
Waiting for the final shadow.
Only then her footsteps faltered,
Only then she seemed discouraged,
Still she labored for her children,
Cooking woodchuck in the cabin,
Boiling squirrels in the kettle,
And the fearless woodland pussy,
Broiled above the glowing embers,
Browned and ready for their supper;
Pounded corn in ancient mortar,
In the cabin in the forest,
Caring for the many children,
Indian children of the Light House,
Tokens of her father's anger
And her own unyielding answer.
Feeble grew her aged footsteps,
Toiling there beside the river.
Gone her youth and all her beauty,
Gone her joyous smiles and laughter,
Snowy white her tangled tresses.
Now her thoughts kept turning backward
To the distant days of childhood,
To the happy days with mother.
Clearly still she thought of father,
Say her children's children's children,
And his bitter words of anger,
Giving her no word of kindness,
When she humbly sought his blessing,
On the union she had chosen,
Yet her spirit lived unbroken,
But the weary years were many,
Saddened by the bitter quarrel,
"But" she whispered very slowly,
'Though the years again roll backward,
Filling life with youth and beauty,
Bringing crowds of wealth suitors,
Never would I wed for money,
Where my heart refused to follow."
"Better toil through life in freedom
Than be bought by suitor's money
Like a lowly slave at auction."
37. GRANNY CHAVCHAM'S DAYS WERE OVER.
When autumn lay on vale and hill,
Sadness came into the cabin
Where Granny Chaugham lay so still,
For her troubled life was ended.