THE BURNING OF THE TURNER MILL Calmly dawned the Sabbath morning O'er Turner's hills and moors; And peaceful lay the village-- By fair Nezinscot's shores. Rich and abundant blessings Seemed showering o'er the land Like dews of Heaven, diffusing As by some unseen Hand. A verdant, fertile valley That spread afar was seen; With anon interspersing The river's azure sheen. And on the green banks, winding In gentle, graceful curve; Where rank, tenebrous foliage The feather'd nestlings serve. Stood giant oaks primeval, Which thrust their branches wide Where dancing ripples sparkled Upon the eddying tide. Bright spires, ever gleaming From tall majestic domes Like sentinels seemed guarding The scores of happy homes. A picture fair and lovely The landscape lay that morn,-- As tho' by seraph painted Upon the wings of dawn. * * * * * * * * * * * * * The first chimes from the steeples Rang out in accents clear; And like accordant music Fell on the listening ear.-- As yet no note of sorrow Was mingled in their tone; They seemed like benedictions Descending from the Throne. No thought had the good people Of shadows hovering near-- No thought that ere the noon-tide Full many a bitter tear Would fall.--(Oh! all-wise Father-- By thy supernal power Revert the pending danger Ere falls the fatal hour! Ah! why?--our hearts may question,-- Ye mortals!--none can tell! 'Tis meet, on Him relying Who doeth all things well.)-- Once more the bells' sweet music From all the belfrys rang; Bidding the folk to gather For worship.--Praise they sang. And as they turned their footsteps-- Each toward his wonted church; All was serene and peaceful As far as eye could search. But hark! What meant the tumult Arising in yon street-- And why disperse those people With swiftly hurrying feet?-- And why that shrill voice shouting As if in dire alarm-- Did'st know 'twas misdemeanor To break the Sabbath calm?-- As onward sped the herald, With face the hue of death And wild-bright eyes, an instant He paused to regain breath,-- Then quick, in tones reverberant That pealed from spire to spire Rang out the cry of terror:-- "The mill! The mill's on fire!" (Thro' the surrounding valley, And o'er adjacent hill; The echoes oft repeated:-- "There's fire in the mill!") Amazed were all the people-- No word their lips could frame As on the breeze's soft pinions Again the wild cries came:-- "The mill! The mill is burning!" At last, as if from sleep They wakened to the danger,-- Beheld a bright flame leap!-- Ascending and expanding, Columns of smoke arose As from volcanic crater Where molten lava flows.-- Again the cry resounded:-- "The mill is all on fire!"-- And catching up the tidings The bells 'neath every spire Tolled franticly the warning.-- With clanging, vibrant tongue They sent abroad the message The village folk among! Lo! Turner's happy village-- That peaceful, pleasant scene Transformed in one brief moment To one of sorrow keen.-- The smoke grew darker, denser, Fierce flames leaped high and higher,-- "Oh for Niagarian torrent To quench the cruel fire!" Red tongues from every window Shot forth.--As fortress gray Shoots flame from belching cannon In battle's grim array.-- As pillar after pillar Of smoke arose, which claimed The attention of the people As high the rafters flamed-- As stood they mute, and helpless, While cinders rose and fell 'Mid the crackling and roaring No mortal power could quell A cry to Heaven ascended-- (Thro' bravest hearts a thrill Of horror crept:)--The proprietor Is in the burning mill

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