In the merry round waltz and the songs for the reels,
In the “Oracle’s” rhymes that were slicker than eels,
And the snug little town whence the dancers had come
On the evening before to the old country home,
Is as fresh to my mind as the tall trees around
The frame house and the barn on the acre of ground.
There the tall trees are standing, still standing alone
Like sentinels now, and are now taller grown,
Where once was the homestead. How often I’m told
By the boatmen who traveled the river of old,