  HERE is the brook where the bold pirates ferried, Swashbuckling wretches, cold-blooded, unkind; Here is the tree where vast treasure was buried, Doubloons we dug for but never could find. How things have changed since these waters were riven, Splashed with our paddles and churned into foam! Since the dark nights when the pickaxe was driven Where the lost treasure lay under the loam! Here is the wood with its fastness unbounded, Whence the red savage stole noiselessly out, Warning us not till his warwhoop was sounded, Leaving us scalped on the greensward about. How things have changed from the steed and the stirrup, Flintlock and tomahawk whittled from lath, Where our blood ran there’s no fluid but syrup From the sap maples along our war path! Here is the plain where our scouts reconnoitred, Crawling and creeping through morass and glade, Sighting some bloodthirsty savage who loitered Near by the scene of some scalp-lifting raid. Since came the bison by hundreds to browse, Silent the plain where our brave scouts went creeping, Save for the lowing of far distant cows. Here is the cave where our clans were assembled, Guarded by sentries, nor traitor could reach; Ghostly and tomb-like, where heroes dissembled Blood-chilling fears in their boldness of speech. Bruce had a refuge here, Wallace lay wounded, Hallowed its clammy walls, safe its retreat, Once ’twas a labyrinth, gloomy, unsounded, ’Tis but a gravel pit, just off the street. How things have changed in the years since we knew them, Pirate and redskin and treasure and clan; Men walk beside them and past them and through them, Giving no heed that our blood there once ran; Making no sign for the struggles that swept them, Flintlock and scalplock, raid, warfare, and strife, How things have changed since we cherished and kept them! All of the romance has gone out of life! |
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