On a boulder by the roadside,
Is a worn inscription telling
Briefly of the ancient village.
Ever flowing, winding southward,
Still the Tunxis River murmurs
Of the Light House on the hill-side
And the people of the village.
Standing there beside the river
Echoes of the past come floating,
On the sighing breezes floating,
Voices of the Light House people,
From the lonely mountain shadows,
Home of ageless Molly Barber.
Tiger lilies blossom yearly,
Near the shallow, empty cellars,
Here and there a lonely lilac
Flowers gaily in the spring time,
Sweet reminder of the people
Once residing in the village.
Here and there throughout the valley
People say, "The lilacs growing
Strong and hardy by my window
Are descendants of the lilacs
Growing in the Light House village,
Planted there by Molly Barber."
Baskets fashioned on the hill-side
By the lonely Light House people
Still are cherished in the valley.
Thus the name of Molly Barber
Lives beyond her earthly journey
In neat handiwork and flowers.
Forest shades the lonely grave yard
Where within the dim enclosure
Over fifty dead are buried—
Many have no standing markers.
There the grave of Molly Barber,
Scarcely seen among the others,
Mute reminder of the quarrel
Of a maiden and her father;
All the harshness of his anger,
All the firmness of his daughter
And the sorrow of her mother—
Grim reminder to all fathers,
"Deal more wisely with your daughter."
45. HALLOWED IS THE LONELY GRAVEYARD.
A hush is on the mountain side—
Silent is the lonely grave yard.
Asleep the Indian and his bride-
Molly Barber—Honest Chaugham.