Still this ancient mountain cabin
Sheltered Chaugham's lonely daughter.
For a hundred years this shelter
Stood against the storms of winter
And the sultry heat of summer.
For a hundred years this shelter
Stood beside the rolling Tunxis
And was viewed by many people.
Cold the cabin in the winter,
For the winds were whistling through it.
Damp the cabin in the summer,
For the roof let in the water,
And the ancient floor had settled,
Yet Elizabeth still lingered
In the shaky mountain cabin,
For she had no other shelter.
Calmly watching as the seasons,
Came and went across the hill-side,
Here Elizabeth resided,
Caring for the mountain cabin,
Since her parents had departed
To the Land of the Hereafter;
Daily mending, sewing, cooking,
On the side of Ragged Mountain,
'Till she reached the age of eighty—
Died in eighteen four and fifty,
Died at eighty, still unmarried,
Died alone at night in darkness,
When the winter wind was howling,
And was buried in the grave yard,
Southward in the lonely graveyard,
On the side of Ragged Mountain.
43. MOLLY'S LIFE AND WORK ARE ENDED.
Now forward through the years,
Ever more and more descendants
Are toiling midst hopes and fears,
Mingling with the nation's millions.
Joseph Elwell married Tilda,
Daughter born to Polly Wilson
And her husband, William Wilson,
Dwelt on Burlington's fair hill-side
In a little forest cabin,
Making baskets for the people,
Sold them often in the village—
Collinsville beside the river.
Many dogs, awake and watching,
Guarded well the home of Elwell,
Through the daytime and the night time,
Warding off intruding strangers.
Tilda, versed in healing powers,
Found in many plants and flowers,
Helped to cure the sick and wounded,
Brought relief to ailing people.
Tilda's younger sister, Eunice,
Married thrifty farmer Warner,
Lived a useful life of service,
Rearing sturdy, happy children,
Known in Burlington and Canton.
Thus the story of these people
Carries on to generations
Yet unborn—an endless story.