Morrice Water

ALONG the shallows of the river
That flows by Hemlock Mountain’s side,
There is a street of elms and gardens,
With flower-de-luce and London-pride;
All green and blue and white reflected
Within the still and dreaming tide.

When from the castellated steeple
The bell’s melodious long refrain,
Full early on a Sabbath morning,
Is heard across the windy plain,
Along that street the flowered waistcoat
And polonaise appear again.

In the Town Hall, at springtime parties,
To many a quaint and charming tune,
They play “Where art thou?” and “King William;”
And still beneath the autumn moon
Lead forth to “ Money Musk ” their partners,
And dance the reel and rigadoon.

And when the graybeards fill the tavern
With talk of camp, and sword, and gun,
They mingle Shiloh and Stone River
With Concord, and with Lexington;
Until through yesterdays forever
The Morrice Water seems to run.