Poems (Merrill)/A Tale from Mountain Grange
A TALE FROM MOUNTAIN GRANGE
[This poem was written for, and read at the first meeting held after the completion of the new grange hall at North Buckfield, Nov. 1st, 1904. The poem was founded on facts, but in order to be more amusing for the occasion the incidents were, of course, somewhat exaggerated by the author, who was also a member of Mountain Grange.]
Patrons and Friends:
Within the annals of this Grange A circumstance occurred—And, be it true—Or otherwise, I'll give it as 'twas heard. When last winter's icy breezes Brought the welcome news, so strange That the ever staunch, and loyal Patrons of this Mountain Grange
Decided to erect their temple Ere the coming of the Fall In the village of North Buckfield,— There to locate their new hall.—Ere the last glad trump had sounded Thro' the vales, and o'er the plain—Ere the zephyrs bore the echo To the rugged hills of Maine—
Ere the last faint notes were wafted To "Old Shack's" most distant peak—There a brave, and loyal patron Thus to himself did speak:—"I, Lucius Record, patron, member Of this Grange, a vow do make That I the very first will be The foundation ground to break.
For I have read of honors great To "lay the corner stone,"I'll be the first to break the ground And do it all alone!And so, for months, this patron brave Did cherish in his breast A longing for the time to come Which gave him much unrest.
"Old Father Time" moved slowly on— The snow began to melt—The bleak earth showed in tiny spots Where Lucius Record dwelt. For aught else in the world, just then He neither cared nor feared; But watched those patches grow, until The snow had disappeared.
To all who anxiously await Time slowly wears away; But at last—at last there came the eve Ere the eventful day. That night no sweet dreams came to him, No sleep his pillow sought; But listened he to every sound With nerves most tensely wrought.
And ere the sun's first rays arose To gild yon distant domes; And shed their radiance upon These fair North Buckfield homes Arose he from his downy couch— And with his gleaming spade Proceeded he to carry out The plans which he had made.
In silence marched he by Fred Heald's, Slow, stealthy as a mouse; With bated breath, on tiptoe went Past Celia Dunham's house Lest she or Fred should be awake And chance to hear his step,—And thus—with soft, and cat-like tread He past the school house crept
And reached the spot where stands this hall When lo! in yonder field He spied a form approaching near, And found 'twas Brother Heald And on the self same purpose bent! Lute straightway feared the worst; It but remained now to be seen Which one would get there first!
Lucius quickened up his pace Nor stopped for rocks or planks, Tis said his record equaled then The far-famed Nancy Hanks! He nearly now his courage lost, The way seemed not so clear To be the first to break the ground With tother feller near.
So in the road the spade he dropped And scooped it full of earth Then sprang with all his wondrous might And ran for all he's worth And dumped that sand upon the spot, And made a little mound—"Ah, ha!" quoth he, "I am the first To break the Grange Hall ground!'
Then with a sigh both turned away— They felt somewhat—perhaps One like the 'Russians' at bay— The other like the 'Japs.'—The morning dawned with azure skies, And then the workmen came; Brad Damon and another man Sir William Brown by name.
They saw the sand, and then one spoke— (The other followed suit.'What tarnal fool done this, d'ye spose? I vum, I'll bet 'twas Lute!" The other answered, "I've no doubt 'Twas him, but see these tracks—Now you don't spose dew ye, they Resemble Danville Jack's?"
"Oh, no, taint Dan—I know 'tis Luteȁ To reason this appeals:—These tracks look like an Elephant While Dan's got Nigger heels!"Then exclamations volleyed forth, With laughter long and loud; Just then Geo. Record's silvery voice Came ringing through the crowd:
"I say there, Bill! Tim Jones 'n me Will give fifty cents in change To whom will write this story up And read it in the Grange!'Five poetic pencils glibly glide— Low bends each thoughtful head—Presented for inspections, thus Brad Damon's poem read:—
Lucius Record Sat up late,—Broke the ground— Honor great.
Road to fame— Show's us how.—Pile of dirt— Big's a cow.
Danville Jack— Gloomy feels—Awfully fat— Nigger heels.
Awfully solemn— Awfully mute—Sadly feels— Beat by Lute!
Walls of fame— Got Lute's name on—Poem complete— Bradbury Damon.
"By Gum! he's beaten us all!" they cried Between their tight—shut teeth; Then brushed away that pile of sand And saw what lay beneath! They cried "Let 's give three cheers for Lute! Of him we have learned this day If we can't succeed just as we wish We'll do it as we may."
Patrons, Friends:—Should aught arise within this Grange Which we don't understand; Let's look beneath the surface then, Let's clear away the sand.