USA > Vermont > Addison County > Shoreham > History of the town of Shoreham, Vermont, from the date of its charter, October 8th, 1761, to the present time > Part 14
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That Rowley's poetry was not always elegant. that some of his verses violated the rules of correct taste will not be denied, but it must be considered, that he lacked the advantages of early educa- tion ; that he had neither access to books, nor time to devote to them ; that he made most of his verses impromptu, throwing them out as they were formed in the laboratory of thought, and that he never polished or corrected a line. That he was a man of genuine wit, and had the true spirit of the poet, there can be no doubt. Under more favorable circumstances, he might have vied with the most distinguished authors of satirical poctry. Some few specimens of his muse, I have succeeded after much inquiry and search, in rescuing from oblivion, collected in part from the recollections of the aged, and in part from an old worn out pamphlet and magazine, published at Rutland near the close of the author's life. A por- tion of these are here inserted, not all of them as claiming for their author superior merit, but as furnishing to those who may take an
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interest in our carly history, a fair specimen of the wit and genius of "The Shoreham Bard."
The following, from Slade's State Papers, is the only scrap of his poetry which I have found permanently recorded. It was writ- ten and annexed to the remonstrance, signed by Ethan Allen and others, against what was called the New York Sanguinary Law, and circulated among the people in 1774.
When Cæsar reigned King at Rome St. Paul was sent to hear his doom ; But Roman laws in a eriminal case Must have the accuser face to face, Or Cæsar gives a flat denial. But here's a law, made now of late, Which destines men to awful fate,
And hangs and damns without a trial ; - Which makes me view all nature through To find a law, where men were tied By legal act, which doth exact Men's lives before they're tried : Then down I took the sacred book, And turned the pages o'er, But could not find one of this kind, By God or man before.
THE RUTLAND SONG.
" An Invitation to the poor Tenants that live under the Pateroons in the province of New York, to come and settle on our good lands, under the New Hampshire Grants : Composed at the time when the Land Jobbers of New York served their writs of ejectment on a number of our settlers. the execution of which we opposed by force, until we could have the matter fairly laid before the King and Board of Trade and Plantations, for their direction."
BY THOMAS ROWLEY.
1
Come all ye laboring hands That toil below, Amid the rocks and sands That plow and sow, Come quit your hired lands, Let out by cruel hands, 'Twill free you from your bands- To Rutland go.
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2
Your pateroons forsake, Whose greatest care Is slaves of you to make, While you live there : Come quit their barren lands And leave them on their hands, 'Twill mrke you great amends ; - To Rutland go.
3
For who would be a slave, That may be free ? Here you good land may have, But come and see. The soil is deep and good,
Here in this pleasant wood,
Where you may raise your food And happy be.
4
West of the Mountain Greun Lies Rutland fair, The best that e er was seen For soil and air. Kind zephyr's pleasant breeze
Whispers among the trees,
Where men may live at ease, With prudent eare.
5
Ilere cows give milk to eat, By nature fed ; Our ffelds afford good wheat, And corn for bread. Here sugar trees they stand Which sweeten all our land, We have them at our hand, Be not afraid.
6
Here stands the lofty pine And makes a show ; As strait as Gunter's line Their bodies grow. Their lofty heads they rear Amid the atmosphere Where the wing'd tribes repair, And sweetly sing.
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7
The butternut and beach, And the elm tree, They strive their heads to reach As high as they ; And falling much below, They make an even show, -- The pines more lofty grow And crown the woods.
8
Here glides a pleasant stream, Which doth not fail To spread as rich as cream O'er the intervale ; As rich as Eden's soil,
Before that sin did spoil,
Or man was doom'd to toil To get his bread.
9
Here little salmon glide, So neat and fine. Where you may be supplied With hook and line ; They are so fine a fish To cook a dainty dish, As good as one could wish 'lo feed upon.
10 Here's roots of every kind, The healing anodyne And rich costives: The balsam of the tree
Supplies our surgery ; No safer can we be In any land.
11 We value not New York With all their powers, For here we ll stay and work, The land is our's. And as for great Duane* With all his wicked train ; They may eject again ; We'll not resign.
*One of the New York land jobbers.
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12 This is that noble land By conquest won,
Took from a savage band With sword and gun ; We drove them to the west,
They could not stand the test ; And from the Gallic pest The land is free.
The four following pieces of poetry were furnished from the rec- ollections of Rev. Samuel Rowley, of Whiting, Grandson of Thomas Rowley, now seventy-five years old.
RIDING ON THE ICE UPON LAKE CHAMPLAIN.
BY TIIOMAS ROWLEY ESQ.
The water deep is fast asleep Beneath this icy band, So we can pass upon her face, As on the solid land.
When Sol displays his warmer rays And leaves his southern house, He'll penetrate this icy plate And set the water loose.
To our surprise the winds arise And put it all in motion; Here waves will run as they have done On the Atlantic ocean.
The mighty hand that formed the land And set the seas their bound, He at his will can hush it still, As is the solid ground.
Then Boreas sends his freezing winds Upon our Lake Champlain, Whose dreadful frost will bind her fast- So we may ride again.
REFLECTIONS. Now where's the man that dare attend And view creation over, And then reply, he doth deny The Great Supreme Jehovah.
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Who sits above in light and love And views his glorious plan, All on a scale that does not fail, Yet never learned by man. The great Supreme is clearly seen In all the works of nature, The planets roll around the pole Like those at the Equator.
Ten thousand globes in shining robes Revolve in their own sphere, Nature's great wheel doth turn the reel And bring about the year.
CALLING ON A SCOT IN A COLD STORM.
It was my lot to visit Scott In a cold winter storm; I did propose to dry my clothes And my cold body warm.
I step'd in door and on the floor A herd of swine there met me,
Some I did stride, some on each side, Till they almost o'erset me.
Beyond that herd a man appear'd, Like one that had no soul ; He hung his head, like one that's dead, Over a fire of coal.
His loving wife to save her life Sat in the dirt and sand ; Her knees erect her chin protect, Her nose she held in hand.
Poor souls, they'll freeze, unless the breeze Should drop some limbs down chimney ; Or some kind friend doth lend a hand To succour them right nimbly.
COMPOSED ON THE DAY HE WAS SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD.
Old seventy-five is still alive A poor declining poet ; These lines he sends unto his friends That they who read may know it.
He is so blind he is confin'd, His pen he cannot use ; What he indites he cannot write And that obstructs his muse. 22
.
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REPORTED FROM THE RECOLLECTIONS OF IRA STEWART, EL 2R., OF MIDDLEBURY, AND OTHERS
Rowley's friends in Connecticut opposed his emigrating to Ver- mont, on the ground that there were no gospel privileges there. He however persisted in going, and upon leaving gave them the following verses, which he thought suited to their condition, which was not altogether peaceful.
'Tis but a jest to have a priest, If you pay him for his labor, And lie and cheat in every street And vilify your neighbor.
Never be willing to expose The little failings of your foes ; But of all the good they ever did Speak much of that and leave the bad. Attend to this and strife will cease, And all the world will live in peace.
Thomas Rowley rode up to the grist-mill at Richville, and asked Isaac Jones to put a bag of meal on his horse. Jones told him he would not, unless he would make a verse first, upon which Rowley immediately said :
Isaac Jones has got great bones, I know it by his shanks ; If he puts my bag upon the nag,. I'll give him hearty thanks.
On a certain occasion a hunter sat in the stone house at the Old Fort in Ticonderoga, with one foot clothed in a bear skin, and a boot on the other. There were several men present, who started the question whether Rowley could make a verse applicable tothis strange appearance ; whereupon one of the number proposed a wager of a gallon of rum, that Rowley, if he were sent for, would make a verse appropriate to the man's condition, without being ap- prised beforehand of any of the circumstances in relation to him. Rowley was sent for accordingly, being told he must make a verse on the first object he should see, on entering the bar-room in the tavern. On his arrival he opened the door, and saw the hunter
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in his strange garb, purposely seated in front of him, with his feet on a chair. Rowley addressed him in the following lines :
A cloven foot without a boot, A body full of evil, If you'd look back upon his track You'd think it was the devil.
One day Rowley went into Apollos Austin's store in Orwell, wearing a shabby old hat. Austin began to joke him about it, and asked him why he did not get a better one. Rowley replied he was not able to buy one, upon which Austin told him if he would make a verse, instanter, he would give him a new one. Rowley at once responded to the condition. Taking off his hat and looking at it, he said :
Here's my old hat, no matter for that- 'Tis good as the rest of my raiment ; If I buy me a better You'll set me down debtor, And send me to jail for the payment. NATHAN ROWLEY'S LIST.
FOR TIIE YEAR OF OUR LORD ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE My head contains my sight and brains, And many other senses,- As taste and smell, I hear and feel, And talk of vast expenses.
It doth exert each active part Of human nature's whole ; Reason and sense are its defence, Which some have term'd the soul.
The noblest name of human frame, With sense and reason bound- Our men of state say it shall rate At half a dozen pound.
My real estate I have to rate, The public are partakers ; I plant and sow, and feed and mow, ---- Not far from twenty acres.
My herd allows two stately cows As neat as woven silk ; They seldom fail to fill my pail Up to the brim with milk.
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Also two mares, good in the gears, To plow the clay or gravel ; When drest with saddle, and mounted straddle, Are very good to travel.
Here's my whole list, I do protest ; I shall not add a line ; No more this year that can appear, That is my Dad's or mine.
My whole estate you have to rate As here I've set it down ; The whole account you see amounts To eight and twenty pounds.
FURNISHED FROM THE RECOLLECTIONS OF JOS, PH SMITH, ESQR.,
ESQ. ROWLEY'S LIST.
My poor old mare, her bones are bare, The crows begin to sing; If the old brute does not recruit They'Il feed on her next spring.
As for her age I do engage She's eighteen years or more,
And just as free from the list should be As man is at three score.
Six persons, residents of Shoreham, met together for an evening drink, as was customary in those days, and as it was thought they indulged rather freely, Tho. Rowley, who was witness of the scene described, by request, composed the following lines : Their names were Wallace, Tower, Denton, John Larabee, called young John, and Cooper:
Old cruel Bacchus was pleased to attack us, He wounded our men in the head ;
He fell with such power on Wallace and Tower, He presently laid them for dead.
Then Denton was found with a terrible wound, 'Twas just over his right ear,
Young John he was touch'd, but wasn't hurt much, He happen'd to fall in the rear.
Then Cooper came on just after young John, Was determined to keep the field,
But Bacchus shot off his bottle and hit Cooper's noddle, and forced him to yield.
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The mighty campaign was near Lake Champlain, Where the battle of Bacchus was fought, And Bacchus like Nero, he conquer'd each hero And now they must all pay their groat.
The following pieces were selected from an old worn out pam- phlet, of twenty-three pages, published in 1802, entitled, “ Selec- tions and Miscellaneous Works of Thomas Rowley." They have seriousness and a degree of force.
" THE SOUL INVADED."
I've foes without and foes within, To lead me captive into sin ; Tis from the Spirit and the Word I must receive the conquering sword, By humble prayer the cause engage Or fall a victim to their rage. 'Tis hateful pride that heads the band, And he resolves to have command ; In my own strength I oft have tried To stay this dreadful monster pride ; He's fixed his fortress in my heart Resolving never to depart. And nothing can this monster move But sovereign grace and melting love.
Another band comes on afresh, The lust of eye, and of the fleslı ; And they lay siege on every side For to assist their general, Pride ; If will should join and take their part, They'll make a havoc in my heart.
" MEDITATION ON THE DEATH OF MY DEAR AND LOVING WIFE."
As I lay musing on my bed, A vision bright my woes o'erspread Amidst the silent night ; My second self lay by my side, An angel came to be her guide, And soon she made her flight !
Methought I saw her passing high, Through liquid air, the ethereal sky, And land on Canaan's Shore ; Where shining angels singing sweet, Bade her welcome to a seat And join the heavenly choir.
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I'm too unholy and unclean Of these bright heavenly things to dream, Till grace refines my heart ; The dying gifts of Christ our King Must tune my heart in every string, To sound in every part.
O, how sweetly now She sings ! Her harp is strung on golden strings The melody to grace ; Prepure me, Lord, that I may go And take a humble seat below, And sing upon the Bass.
Come Holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove Give me a taste of Sovereign love, Then I can safely go ; My soul would swiftly wing its way
Into the realms of endless day, And sing Hosannas too.
" AN ELEGY, WRITTEN BY T. ROWLEY, ON THE DEATH OF HIS WIFE."
The Most High God hath shook his rod, Over my heavy head, And took the life of my dear wife The partner of my bed.
Full fifty years we've labored here, In wedlock's silken chains ; No deadly strife disturbed my life, Since Cupid join'd our hands.
A faithful mate in every state, In affluence as in need :
Free for to lend a helping hand, With prudence and with speed.
Some years ago, she let us know, In visits from above Her Savior's voice made her rejoice, And sing redeeming love.
Almost four years grim death stood near As loth to lift his hand ; But now at length put forth his strength, As he received command.
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And now, alas ! the crystal glass Is by death's hammer broke, And I am left sorely bereft ; And 'tis a heavy stroke.
My tears like rain I can't refrain, To think that we must part; To see her breath dissolve in death, The sight affects my heart.
To see my dead lie on her bed. I feel a sore dismay, For to behold the finest gold Reduced to mouldering clay.
All round the room, a mournful gloom Affects the liqu'd air, In every place and empty space For lo ! she is not there.
Her place before knows her no more, In vain I look to find ; No more her voice doth me rejoice, There's nothing left behind.
I'm like a dove that's lost her love, Mourns in the lonely tree ; Such is my case in every place. There's no more love for me.
-*
A virtuous wife through all her life, A mother kind likewise, A neighbor good she always stood ; This truth no one denies.
No slander hung upon her tongue, To wound her neighbor's breast ; Honest and true to pay her due And do the thing that's just.
Her noble mind was so refineJ, Her reason turn'd the scales ; The tattling train she did disdain Nor would she tell their tales.
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MEDITATION ON THE DEATH OF MRS. ROWLEY.
Farewell my dear and loving wife, So long as death shall us divide ; Fare well thon much loved lump of elay, Farewell till resurrection day .
Farewell until the trumpet sound. And shake the earth and cleave the ground ; Then may we'rise and wing our way, To regions of eternal day.
On yonder hill in silence lays My friend, my youthful bride ! In a short space 'twill be my place' To lie down by her side.
Our bones must rest in funeral chest, Until the judgment day -- When call'd from dust our bands shall burst To assume our forms of clay.
Then shall we go to weal or woe, Just as we leave this world; Either above in light and love, Or down to darkness hurled.
Then to behold what here was told, That nature must expire : There may we stand at Christ's right hand And see this world on fire.
This solemn thought to me is brought And may it long abide, That I through grace may find a place By my Redeemer's side.
"REFLECTIONS ON THE RAPIDITY OF TIME."
WRITTEN ON THE DAY HE WAS SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD.
While I reflect on mis-spent days, I fear thy dreadful rod ; So many spent in mirth and plays, So little done for God.
A silver-gray o'erspreads my face The hoary head appears, Which calls mecloud to seek for grace With penitential tears.
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I find a sore corrupted will, But little faith is found : But there is balm in Gilead sti'l, To heal the deadly wound.
Should I be lost in long de-pair, "T'is hell within my breast ; But unto Jesus I'll repair, As he can give me rest.
May God uphold me all day long, By his supporting grace ; And I him praise with heaven-taught song, And speed the heavenly race.
The age of man is past with me: My soul ! be it thy care From sin and Satan to get free ; To meet thy God prepare !
This day 'tis three score years and ten, Since I receiv'd my breath ; And very slothful I have been Preparing for my death.
A thousand dreams have filled my mind, As days came rolling on ; Like one that's deaf, or one that's blind, I know not how they've gone.
Now the full age of man is come, This is the very day ; But, O, my God, what have I done To speed my time away?
If God should add unto my days And give me longer space, O ! may I spend them to his praise And seek his pardoning grace.
" THE CRY CF A PENITENT SOUL."
Now unto thee, my God! I cry, While thou shall give me breath ; O may my soul to thee be nigh, When I expire in death .
Could I but taste my Saviour's love, "Twould sweeten dying pain ; My soul could smoothly soar above, And death would be my gain. 23
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But if my Savior hides his face, What terrors do appear ; Ten thousand sins here find a place, And sink me in despair.
My sins o'erwhelm me like a flood, And poison every vein, But the sweet balm of Jesus' blood Can wash out every stain.
And how can I expect such grace, By sin so much defil'd, Since I began my sinful race When I was but a child.
But Jesus calls, Make no delay : Resign thy stubborn will ;
Forsake your sins and come away, And there is pardon still.
Then O! dear Jesus, [ am thine, I'm coming at thy call ; Into thine arms now I resign, My Spirit and my all.
There are a considerable number of other poems written by Row- ley, published in the pamphlet already referred to, but enough have been embodied in this work to indicate the peculiarity of his genius; some perhaps, which possess no particular merit, have been inser- ted, in which his friends may be interested, that would in a few years have been irrecoverably lost, if not inserted in this biographical notice.
Mr. Rowley was not merely a wit and a poet. He was a man of sound judgment, of quick apprehension, of kind and benevolent feelings, and though destitute of the privileges of early education, he obtained a knowledge of the art of surveying, and was much engaged for several years as a practical surveyor. The several important offices to which he was promoted, show in what estimation he was held as a man of sound judgment and ability.
In stature he was about the medium height, rather thick set, rapid in his movements, had light eyes, sprightly and piercing, in- dicating rapidity of perception. Though sometimes facetious, in
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the exercise of the poetic faculty, he was still a sedate and thoughtful man, and a firm believer in the Christian religion. In sentiment, he was a Wesleyan, and if there had been a society of that denomination in this town in his day, he would probably have been a member of that branch of the Church.
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CHAPTER XXVIII.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES, CONTINUED-JOB LANE HOWE-EBE- NEZER TURRILL- TIMOTHY F. CHIPMAN-ELISHA BASCOM- STEPHEN COOPER, NATHAN IIAND.
COL. JOB LANE HOWE was born in North' Brookfield, Mass., September 19th, 1769, and. after his father, Capt. Abner Ilowe, of the revolutionary army, died of the small pox, contracted in the service of his country, he lived in Mansfield, Con., and was a house carpenter and wheelwright by trade. He came to this town in 1793, built the Congregational Meeting-house, (the first church edifice in town,) and many private mansions in the vicinity ; and carried on extensively the carriage-making business, having numer- ous apprentices who became the first mechanics of the region around, in this particular branch, to which he was devoted many years. He became a member of the Congregational Church, and was the active" agent of that Society and of the town, with Esq. Samuel Hemenway, in prosecuting the claim against Rev. Abel Woods for one half of the lot given by the town charter for the first settled minister, which to the amount of three thousand dol- lars, was recovered and put into the Common School fund of the town.
In 1818 he extended his business into Crown Point, N. Y., and erected mills there and the first Congregational Meeting-house, giv- ing not only the site, burying ground and common, but largely for the edifice. He finally removed his church relation and residence thither in 1836. Ile was a man of great enterprise and persever- ance in business, generous and public spirited, a worthy patron of religious and civil institutions, and was much respected by his fel-
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low citizens. He was especially careful of the morals of appren- tices and workmen in his employ, in leading them to habits of in- tegrity and virtuc. He died in Crown Point, Nov. 29th, 1838, aged sixty-nine.
EBENEZER TURRILL Esq., was born in New Milford, Conn., in 1742; came to Lenox, Mass., in 1759, and settled in this town in 1786. He lived till 1795 in a log house situated near the large two story house, commonly called the old tavern, which he built that year, and moved into it. The house has recently been sold to the Roman Catholics, which they design to fit up for a church. His son Truman Turrill lived with him in that house, and com- menced keeping tavern in it about 1810. It was occupied as a pub- lic house, by several persons, until about the year 1849.
Mr. Turrill was an enterprising, industrious man, made pot-ash for several years from ashes saved in clearing his own lands, and purchased ashes of his neighbors. Immediately after coming to this town he was appointed Justice of the Peace, which office he held several years. While there was no minister in town he fre- quently performed the marriage ceremony, and it is said sometimes took ashes for pay. The following amusing anecdote is related of him. At one time in solemnizing a marriage, he made a mistake and bound the woman first, and then the man, of which he was re- minded at the time ; " All right," he replied, " for she was the first transgressor." He was a member of the Congregational Church at an early day, was fond of reading metaphysical and controversial works, as well as other books, and held an honorable position among the carly settlers of this town. He died here in 1825, aged eighty- four.
TIMOTHY FULLER CHIPMAN, son of Thomas and Bethia Chip- man, his wife, was born in Barnstable, Mass., February 1st, 1761, and died in this town, May 17th, 1830, aged sixty-nine. He was one of a family of fifteen children, of the same parents, a lineal descendant of John Chipman, born in or near Dorchester, England, in 1614, who came to this country in 1631, from whom it is supposed that all who bear the name Chipman in this country are lineally descended.
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The subject of this notice at the age of sixteen, a stripling youth, entered the army of the American Revolution in 1777. His father, belonging to the militia, was drafted to defend his country against the enemy, and having a large family depending on his daily toil for support, in consequence of which it was difficult to leave home, his son Timothy F. took his father's place, and served on the re- treat of the American forces before Burgoyne's army, between Ti- conderoga on Lake Champlain and Fort Schuyler on the Hudson, and was employed in felling trees into Wood Creek and across the road, to obstruct the passage of boats by water and the army by land. Being placed as sentinel on an outer post at Fort Anne, he was in the skirmish at Battle Hill, and a comrade was shot at his side. Having served the period of his engagement, he was honor- ably discharged a few days before the battle of Saratoga and the surrender of Gen. Burgoyne and his army ; after which he re- turned home to the aid of his father, in providing for the wants of a numerous household. In 1782, at the age of twenty-one, he went to Samuel Chipman's in Tinmouth, Vt., and was employed by his kinsman upon his farm as a hired man. In 1783 he came to Shoreham, with little else than a pack on his back. He and Marshal Newton were employed by the Proprietors to carry the chain in the surveys of the townships of Shoreham and Bridport, into their original lots. In this service, he selected a lot in Shore- ham which he afterward purchased, and on which he settled, built him a plank house where he lived, and assiduously toiled in clearing and improving his farm until his decease.
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