USA > Massachusetts > Worcester County > Princeton > Celebration of the one hundredth anniversary of the incorporation of the town of Princeton, Mass., October 20th, 1859 : including the address of Hon. Charles Theodore Russell, the poem of Prof. Erastus Everett, and other exercises of the occasion > Part 4
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the shield of their power and protection, we bend in grateful homage before the Divine author of it all, exclaim- ing, " surely, the lines have fallen to us in pleasant places, and we have a goodly heritage."
But this anniversary has its lesson. As we stand scan- ning others, so others, hereafter, will stand to scan us. While we are relating the past of municipal history, we are making the present.
For the structure that we raise Time is with materials filled ; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these, Leave no yawning gaps between ;
Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base, And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. .
PROGRESS;
A POEM.
BY ERASTUS EVERETT, A. M.,
OF BROOKLYN, N. Y.
The annual bells have rung their hundredth chime Since thou, O ! Princeton, wast ushered into time. All hail, old Princeton ! To childhood's earliest home Thy noble song and virtuous daughters come. From where yon lake reflects the forests green, In whose pure depths the mirrored hills are seen, 1 From where young Nashua's silver fountain flows, 2 Or where Pine Hill his lengthened shadow throws, From where thy Boylston's princely villa lies, Or Brook's fields salute the eastern skies, 3 Where dwelt thy Gill in magisterial state,
* And taught thy sons what virtues make us great From where thy churches' modest spires ascend, And warn us all to seek in Heaven a friend ; Come from thy utmost borders, here we stand And, brethren all, each grasps a brother's hand. A few have roved in distant lands away From where their infant eyes first saw the day,- To Hampshire's mountains clad in ice and snow, To western wilds where lurks the savage foe, To southern lands where glows a burning sky And sugared fruits in wild profusion lie. And they too bid thee hail ! They too are come, Thy truant sons and daughters, welcomed home, From prairie, hill and vale assembled here To celebrate with thee thy Hundredth Year. Though winds blow fierce from many a woody steep, And wintry storms their boisterous revels keep, Though late the snow doth in the furrow lie
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4 And dwarfish Fall-flowers prematurely die, O'er this loved spot affections linger still And fondly cluster round Wachusett Hill.
PROGRESS I sing :- my muse assist the lay,- Allied the theme to this auspicious day.
A time there was, when all the vast domain Of hill and valley, woodland, lake and plain, From where Katahdin rears his awful head, (By him Penobscot's gelid springs are fed) To modern Ophir, California's strand, Whose rivers flow in beds of golden sand, From where the wind-god rules the stormy North And clothes in icy mail the frozen earth, To where the groves in living green appear And Spring and Summer share the equal year,- When all this land so fruitful and so fair, Alike the patriot's pride and patriot's care, Was one vast haunt of savage beasts of prey And Indian warriors fiercer still than they. Algonquins and Iroquois of various name Roamed far and wide and chased the antlered game. Rude Art had taught to bend the supple yew,- From birchen bark to form the light canoe ; With that they learned the furry bear to slay ; With this from lakes to tempt the finny prey. All this they took as Nature freely gave In ignorance content no more to crave. The kindly earth afforded tuberous roots, Ceres spontaneous, yielded bearded fruits. Kind Nature thus supplied the place of Art And made provision for the grosser part, But no provision made or care had given For that which makes us men and heirs of heaven.
5 Nor must we fancy this the golden age, With which the poets fill the mythic page, When acorns were the simple shepherd's food And blissful ignorance taught him naught but good. The savage bosom heaved with passions dire, With malice, hate, revenge and deadly ire. Nor men in arms alone the foe engaged : 'Gainst age and sex the fiendish warfare raged. The hoary sire that in his arm-chair dozed, The tender babe that in its crib reposed, Matron and maid in mingled slaughter bled And swelled the list of prematurely dead.
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The captive little cause of joy they gave, Doomed to a life more dreadful than the grave. Dire was his punishment : for who ean tell The tortures practised by these hounds of hell ! Not Nero's hate or Herod's jealous rage, Which stain with blood the classic Gibbon's page, Not Britain's Queen whose frequent fagots, burned Round Smithfield's stake, her " Bloody " title earned, Where Ridley, Latimer and Cranmer bled, Immortal trio of the martyred dead, Contrived the tortures ingeniously severe Which in our early Indian wars appear.
Nor then, loved Princeton, was thy rude domain, Where Peace, Content and Industry now reign, Frce from the savage foc that nightly prowled . More ficrce than famished wolves that round him howled. On th' eastern slope whence old Wachusett swells,
6 A little girl (for so tradition tells) Had strayed from home, what time th' autumnal blast Had strewn the frozen ground with golden mast And dapple squirrel's merry bark did tell The huntsmen where his kindred loved to dwell. Still lured along by objects strange and wild, Many such objects lured the simple child, An Indian's fcathered plume she sudden spies And ccho answers to her frantic cries.
Around her head the threatening hatchet gleams And tears and sobs succeed to childish screams.
The neighbors came from all the country round,
. Resolved the little wanderer should be found. They formed a circle, toward the centre drew, And gave from time to time the loud halloo. They searched each bush, nook, thicket, hollow tree, Where'er, by chance, a little child might be ; Prolonged the search, nor ceased from day to day, Till the last, lingering hope had died away. Surmises horrible filled each anxious breast, Surmises long indulged and then expressed : She lived-had gone 'mong savage tribes to dwell :- All else conjecture :- the sequel none could tell. Some said she waded through Canadian snows To where St. Laurent's mighty current flows ; Some said she pined, a captive, 'neath the skies Where Saratoga's healing waters rise, 7 Or hoarse Niagara in thunder roars And down the abyss the ceaseless torrent pours. Her stricken father travelled far and near
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As rumours various reached his eager ear ; But rumours vain no certain tidings gave And he forgot his sorrows in the grave.
When but a child, I heard my mother say How thou, fair Rowlandson, wast driven away. Pity and rage by turns my bosom stirred As I the horrors of thy story heard.
She wandered on with painful steps and slow, And marked with crimson dye the virgin snow. Methinks I hear her pray with stifled breath, " O ! God when wilt thou grant relief in death ?" The night is darkest just before the day ; Th' all-seeing One watched o'er her weary way, Brought help from far his cherished child to save And granted life to one who asked a grave. 8 Concord's illustrious son the ransom paid On that high rock where we in childhood played ; Near Graves' swamp where Frost his father slew --- Half idiot Frost, the dread of all he knew.
Such tales as these which freeze the youthful blood The ancient annals of our town record. My soul, turn from them. "Tis well we change the lay From this dark race that long hath passed away. No council fires now shed their fitful flame Or mothers hush their babes with Philip's name.
Genoa's Pilot launched from Palos' shore, Through unknown seas his timid followers bore, On Guanahani's coast his flag unfurled And gave to Castile's Queen another world. Cabot came next, Caboto rightly named, In Venice born-Venice for beauty famed. Amerigo Vespucci next we see, Born at fair Florence-Italians all the three. This last the land admired and filled his page With fabled splendors of the golden age. Bright golden fishes in the waters played And gold-winged warblers flitted through the glade : The waters flowed in beds of golden sand And hills of gold o'erlooked the happy land. The waving palms in living green were dressed, Whose fruits ran nectar ere the lip had pressed. Green sunny seas the sunny shores did lave And Nature furnished more than man could crave. 9 The Tuscan thus filled Europe with his fame And this vast continent received his name. .
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De Soto first drank Mississippi's wave And in its turbid waters found a grave. All gallant Raleigh's cruel fate bemoaned Who on the block for fancied crimes atoned. Hudson saw first Manhattan's azure skies, Where now a thousand marble mansions rise ; There sculptured piles the distant prospect bound, There Mammon's self his favorite seat hath found And Wall-street stands confessed, his consecrated ground.
But who shall fitly name the Pilgrim band, That launched their ship from low Batavia's strand, Ploughed the dark sea, nor feared the stormy flood Which bore them nearer to their equal God !
" The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed :
And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New-England shore."
Thus Hemans sung sublime and swept the lyre Divinely wild,-her lips were touched with fire- And who shall dare, presumptuous, to explore The upward path which she hath trod before ? 10 Our fathers planted here 'mid ice and snow A fruitful vine which hath not ceased to grow. O'er hill and vale it shoots its leafy boughs And distant nations 'neath its shade repose.
Then first the axe through ancient forests rung, Forests grown old ere yet blind Homer sung ; The sturdy woodman, doubling stroke on stroke, Laid low the towering pine and knotted oak ; The giant trunks in blackened ruins lay And purblind monsters, frightened, fled the day ; Earth's bosom heaved with elemental strife And teemed with a thousand novel forms of life. Man o'er th' Atlantic brought the noble steed Which on Granada's plains was wont to feed, Taught the proud charger of th' embattled field To the mild yoke his patient neck to yield, With daily toil to aid the laboring train
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And fit the earth to yield the yellow grain. 11 Such thine, O ! Harrington, which we oft have seen Where mustering troops moved o'er yon shaven green. When the shrill clarion rent the crystal sky To tell the host the mimic fight was nigh, His burning nostrils wide and streaming mane, Th' impatient bit which spurned the tightened rein, 12 His neck with thunder clothed and eye of fire, Left us in doubt if most we should admiro The haughty grace with which the charger trod Or practised skill with which the master rode.
Each thrifty farmer with his neighbor vied, By patient implements the sod was plied ; Exotic shrubs adorned the gay parterre, Exotic flowers perfumed the morning air ; The moss-rose bloomed where once the thorn grew wild And all the land a flowery garden smiled.
The mother country a cruel step-dame proved, Nor loved her children but their tribute loved. She taxed the luxuries and the wants of life, She taxed the husband and she taxed the wife ; Th' imported brandy and the home-brewed malt, The rich man's spices and the poor man's salt. She taxed their sugar, (and she taxed their tea Till Boston Mohawks steeped it in the sea.) Hills piled on hills at length the mountain forni Whose cloud-capped top forebodes the rising storm. 'Neath such a mountain bound, the Titan strove, In vain, to move the load imposed by Jove. So, taxes following taxes, one by one, Grew mountain loads which made a province groan With giant throws the mountain heaved at length And Britain knew the infant giant's strength.
Where yon proud obelisk stands sentinel To guard the sacred graves of Bunker's Hill, 13 I used to hear my aged kinsmen say " Balls flew like hailstones," that eventful day. They in the bloody conflict bore a part ; Their country's call had taught the warlike art. Warren just saw the nation's rising sun, And, falling, died and deathless laurels won. The day was lost, and patriots nobly bled But called for vengeance, trumpet-tongued though dead Then rose the mighty Chief, for valor known And skill in war, and prudence all his own. Biding his time, he fled before his foes 7
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As waves are driven when the tempest blows. Sudden he turned-when lo ! his foes dispersed, As clouds are riven when the thunders burst. He taught the Briton 'neath his eye to quail And on the Hessian poured the leaden hail. On Trenton's plains the red-mouthed cannon blazed, The hireling wretches routed fled amazed, And Princeton's glorious day our fallen fortunes raised. Across the flood th' astounding tidings sped And hoary monarchs trembled while they read. Not greater panic seized Belshazzar's hall When mene tekel was written on the wall. The thunderbolts of war the hero hurled And, conquering, the stars and stripes unfurled Which proudly float aloft o'er every sea And floating, flap the emblems of the free. The Stars of light guide up to glory's path, The Stripes are emblems of the nation's wrath. We've chosen for our Arms the bird of Jove, Acknowledged chief of birds that soar above. The Olive proffers peace where'er it goes, The Arrows hurl defiance at our foes. E Pluribus proclaims our vast extent, Unum, the nature of our Government. The Shield, our ycomanry, unconquered host, Is still our buckler and our country's boast.
We teach no arts but those of peace and love Brought by the Prince of Peace from heaven above. Let Louis deluge lands in human blood And be, self constituted, the scourge of God ! Our mission is to benefit mankind And, dying, leave a heritage of peace behind. Of warlike arts let Europeans boast, We yet have art enough to guard our coast. E'en if they chance to land, they still shall find We have some cotton-bales to hide behind. Let their sharp-shooters come with Minie ball With our Sharp's shooters we will shoot them all.
But who shall sing the progress of the State In all that makes a nation truly great ! The Steam-leviathan holds his steady path, Reckless of time or tide or tempest's wrath ; O'cr the vast ocean speeds his trackless way Nor yet reposes in the coast-bound bay ; He mounts the foaming river to its source Before he slackens in his onward course ;,
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And yet no monumental shaft doth rise To tell the world where Robert Fulton lies. Railroads, Briareus-like, with hundred hands Bind thirty States and one in iron bands : O'er prairie, river, valley, hill and plain The iron-horse speeds on his clattering train, Transports the products of a thousand fields Yet meek submission to his master yields. Prometheus, when he stole celestial fire To light man's lifeless clay, provoked Heaven's ire ; Bound on a rock, condemned, he bled While on his heart th' insatiate vulture fed. Ah! mighty Fabulist, thou ill didst know The spark divine possessed by man below. The Great Creator made him lord of all- Animals and elements on this earthly ball. 14 Who taught the stork to wing her annual flight Taught man to bring her from her airy height. Our Franklin turned the lightning from its way And on the kite-string saw it harmless play. Morse, more presumptuous still, prescribed its path 15 Nor yet for this incensed the heavenly wrath. Field sent the flash along the ocean bed And through the deep the royal message sped. Franklin was born on Boston's rounded height, Morse first at classic Cambridge saw the light, Field, Stockbridge proudly claims as all her own, And Massachusetts claims them every one.
Our childhood's joys, though blotted from the mind Like stars from heaven, have left a light behind. Ah ! halcyon days, when we went forth to snare The mottled partridge and the bounding hare, Squirrels and birds to hunt each 'Lection- day And every Summer spread the new-mown hay. In yonder lake, we took the frequent bath And trapped the muskrat in his furrowed path. When Winter clothed the earth in snowy fleece We staid at home and played at fox and geese Or simple morris (but never cards or dice,) Then sallied forth to skate upon the ice. Returned home late, we said our evening prayer, And soon in sleep forgot each boyish care.
There on the hill, where once a willow stood Close by the pool where played the gosling brood, The hoary grandsire whiled old age away, And pipe and Bible closed cach happy day.
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The giant clock that clicked behind the door, 16 To fix exactly noon, eleven and four, The oaken staff with curious dog-like head The chest of drawers and the low-posted bed, The gold-bowed spectacles that helped the sight To read the News and Holy page aright- These precious heir-looms all, we'll treasure still And, dying, leave one to each loved child by Will.
Transporting joys ! when every Fourth of May We witnessed all the feats of Training-day. Oft did the captain chide the raw recruit Who " left the ranks " for gingerbread or fruit, 17 Laughed at his faults, or deeds of mischief done, Brandished his sword and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his men the good man learned to glow ; Forgot their blunders and their mischief too. Careless their merits or their faults to scan, He all forgave ere penitence began. Thus to relieve the soldier was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side. This th' Old Militia. The " Independent " band, Was famed for martial glory through the land. They knew the tactics, (all that their captains knew,) Both Merriams taught, and Major Dudley too. The brothers Merriam were of warlike fame, From warlike lineage too 'tis said they came. By nature martial both ;- Joseph the Colonel's name ; - The other, Amos, called from holy seer of old, Was Captain then, and Deacon now enrolled. Such troops of late swept o'er Magenta's plain, Choked up Palæstro's river with the slain And, while the world looked on in silent awe, Fixed the proud Hapsburg's bounds and gave him law. 'Twere vain to tell the Captains of renown, Or even Colonels, born in this goodly town. 'Twere sheer impertinence again to tell What Russel eloquent has told so well. These warlike worthies now have civic grown Fill posts of trust, of honor and renown, And wear with equal grace, the oak or laurel crown. At every party gathering round this hill One served his party, and he served them well. He calmed their petty quarrels, hushed their broils, Professed the creed, " To victors be the spoils," And he was bidden, as a fit reward, -
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This goodly Township's correspondence guard. 18 He kept the papers too, nor kept too long When State elections drew th' annual throng. Too lionest he to fawn or seek for power By tricks oft practised in the eventful hour. Scarce did the coachman light from off his box, When bankers hurried in to learn the price of stocks ; And many a blushing maiden he made glad With rhyming ditties from her absent lad, By gilt-edged letters made completely well Both pining widow and consumptive belle. 19 The Doctor now prescribes for female ills, Along with gilt-edged letters, gilded pills. To him the politicians all resort For news from Zurich or St. James' court, Or that last speech the " Little Giant " made, And " guess " if Wise or Douglas has the wiser head. Little reck I, assured that both must yield, And Banks or Seward win the well-fought field.
Ladies, your smiles suggest another theme, 20 Ah ! yes, the very same, 'tis Love's young dream. O beauteous maidens, how shall I declare Your charms ? Vain were the task and I forbear. Consult your mirrors, and you shall almost see What charming creatures your mothers used to be. A grace that mocks the Grecian sculptor's art Beams in the eye and moves in every part, That witching smile and dimple, faintly show Your mothers' beauty thirty years ago.
Seven sister stars look down from Taurus' height, Seven Grecian Sages saw bright wisdom's light, Seven golden lamps in darkened Asia shone, 21 And thrice seven preachers, Princeton calls her own. Go forth, ye heralds of the living God ! Cross desert, jungle, valley, hill and flood ; Proclaim salvation free, unsold, unbought, And teach the blessed truths the Saviour taught. Pagan and Jew the great Messiah shall own And shine as stars in your eternal crown.
As early memories throng around the heart And later griefs, for each hath had his part, We heave th' unbidden sigh, an offering given To absent ones, too early called to heaven. Three generations,-all have passed away
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Within the century we close to-day. The first had ended this tragi-comic strife Ere we were ushered upon the stage of life ; The second only feeble traces left behind Among the shattered pictures of the mind ; The third in limb and feature yet remain, Entire, unmarred by fracture, blur or stain.
Pardon, my townsmen, the tribute of a tear Paid to the one my memory holds most dear. On the same day, we drew the vital air, On the same couch forgot each daily care, At the same notch, we turned the steel-yard beam, In the same field, we urged the sluggish team ; In Dartmouth's Halls both sought for wisdom's lore, Both left, when duty called, our native shore. We went far off in Southern lands to dwell :- Ile died, and half his virtues none can tell. Oh ! brother, lost one, whither art thou fled ? Hold'st thou thy nightly vigils by my bed ? Know'st thou the fancies that possess my brain, When in my dreams thou seem'st alive again ? Rejoicest thou before the throne of God No more to smart beneath Affliction's rod ? Where'er thou art, in bright angelic spheres, Or sent to calm thy doubting brother's fears, To me the world is palled in frequent gloom For thou art gathered to the mouldering tomb. Though fortune smile-give all she ever gave, My life will be a bark on stormy wave. Lo! heavenly visions dawn upon my sight, I see thee clad in robes of living light, And I rejoice that thou hast won the Christian fight.
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NOTES.
(1) page 44. " From where young Nashua's silver fountain flows."
The Nashua has four sources in the town of Princeton, viz : two which rise on the north side of Wachusett mountain and flow into Wachusett Lake ; one which flows through the farm of Mr. Roswell Osgood ; and one which rises between Pine Hill and Wachusett mountain, &c.
(2) page 44. "Or where Pine Hill his lengthened shadow throws."
Pine Hill is very high and very precipitous, so that there is no moun- tain of which it can be said so significantly that it throws a " lengthened shadow."
(3) page 44. " Where dwelt thy Gill in magisterial state."
The late Lieut. Governor Gill. of Massachusetts, dwelt in a mansion which stood not far from the present residence of Dr. Boylston.
(4) page 45. "Though late the snow doth in the furrow lie."
The snows are more abundant about Wachusett mountain than in any other part of the State, except, perhaps, the Berkshire Hills. This moun- tain forms the water-shed between the Connecticut and the Merrimack ; it is about 2900 fect in height.
(5) page 45.
The follies of the golden age were revived by Jean Jacques Rousseau, who, in his Essay before the Academy of Dijon, maintained that virtue can be found among the ignorant only, and that vice is a necessary accom- paniment of education.
(6) page 46.
" On th' eastern slope whence old Wachusett swells, A little girl (for so tradition lells.)"
As the fate of the " Lost Child " has always created great interest and sympathy, I have taken great pains to solve the mystery which has hith- erto surrounded it. Having, while in Princeton at the time of the Cen- tennial Celebration, seen a letter, written by Mrs. Cornelia B. K. Brown, dated at Eaton, New York, in 1827, which gave the death-bed confession of a man who declared that he had murdered the child, I determined to get further particulars, if possible, and wrote Mrs. Brown, scarcely hoping to receive an answer. I was agreeably disappointed by the receipt of a
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letter, dated " Rockport, Bourbon County, Kansas Territory, Dec. 8th 1859." She says: " I gave more credence to the report from the fact, that all the years of my girlhood were spent within half a mile of Mrs. John Gleason, of Princeton, whose name, previous to her marriage, was Mrs. Patty Keyes, sister to the lost child Lucy, and one of the' two sisters who went to the pond for sand ; ' and I have many times listened as she related the sad story of the child's disappearance, together with other incidents that, in my opinion, corroborated the truth of Mrs. Anderson's statement. Mrs. Anderson, of Deerfield, New York, witnessed the confession, told it to Mrs. Whitmore, and she gave it to me. Mrs. Whitmore has been dead more than thirty years. Mrs. Anderson I never saw, and whether she is still living I do not know." * *
" I was told that Mr. Littlejohn was thought to be dying for three days. At length he arose in bed, and speaking audibly, said he could not die until he had confessed a murder that he committed many years before. Said he was formerly a neighbor of Robert Keyes, of Princeton, Mass, There was a misunderstanding between the two families. Mr. and Mrs. Keyes felt unpleasantly to live thus, and went to Mr. S's. to effect, if possible, a reconciliation, which having been, apparently, accomplished, and inutual pledges of renewed friendship exchanged, they, Mr. K. and wife, returned home. But the enmity of Mr. S. had not subsided. He sought revenge ; and afterwards, seeing the little daughter alone in the woods, to avenge himself on the parents, killed her by beating her head against a log, and then placed her body in a hollow log and went to his house. When the neighbors were solicited to assist in searching for the lost, he was among the first, and being familiar with the forest, he volunteered to lead the party, carefully avoiding the hollow log, till night. After dark he went to the hollow log, took the body and deposited it in a hole, which had been made by the overturning of a tree."
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