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IMPRESSIONS 
 
 IN AND JBOUT 
 
 PORTLAND, MAINE 
 
 SELECTED BY 
 
 CARRIE THOMPSON LOWELL 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 ABNER W. LOWELL 
 
 608 CONGRKSS STREET, PORTLAND. MAINE 
 
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 <<'^\% 
 
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 Copyright 1910 
 
 BY 
 
 Abnkr W. Lowell 
 
 ©CI.A268906 
 
LIST OF POEMS 
 
 The Ground of Kfnship, 
 
 Motherland, 
 
 Casco Bay, 
 
 City of My Love, . 
 
 Portland, 
 
 The First Parish Vane, 
 
 City Hall, 
 
 The Longfellow House, 
 
 The Longfellow Statue, 
 
 The Eastern Cemetery, 
 
 Maine General Hospital, 
 
 Deering Park, 
 
 The Deering Mansion, 
 
 Riverton Park, 
 
 White Head, 
 
 On Cape Elizabeth, 
 
 The Spell of the Shore, 
 
 SoNGo River, 
 
 Sebago Lake, 
 
 Grace Agnes Thompson 
 
 Robert Rexdale 
 
 John G. Whittier 
 
 Caroline Dana Howe 
 
 Abba Goold Woolson 
 
 James Phinney Baxter 
 
 Carrie Thompson Lowell 
 
 Adaletia E. Dyer 
 
 . George E. B. Jackson 
 
 Abba Goold Woolson 
 
 Moses Owen 
 
 Abba Goold Woolson 
 
 Carrie Thompson Loivell 
 
 Edward Clarence Farnsivorth 
 
 Nathaniel Deering 
 
 Margaret E. Jordan 
 
 Arthur D. Ropes 
 
 Henry W. Longfellozv 
 
 John G. Whittier 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 IHE poems in this little book have 
 been selected with the earnest 
 desire that they may help to 
 deepen the favorable impression 
 which our fair City has made on the stranger 
 within its gates and on the sons and daugh- 
 ters of Portland whose homes may be afar 
 but whose hearts are still with us. 
 
 Permission has been obtained from authors 
 and publishers for copyrighted poems re- 
 corded here. Special thanks are due the 
 Youth's Companion and Miss Adalena E. 
 Dyer for the verses on "The Longfellow 
 House," to the New England Magazine and 
 Miss Grace Agnes Thompson for "The 
 Ground of Kinship," also to the Revell Pub- 
 lishing Company and to Robert Rexdale for 
 
 " Motherland." 
 
 Carrie Thompson Lowell. 
 
 Portland, Maine, March, 1910. 
 
THE GROUND OF KINSHIP 
 
 ( With apologies to the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, who claimed 
 for Cambridge, Mass., the palm as " Nicest place that ever was seen.") 
 
 Know old Maine ? You bet I do. 
 Born there? Don't say so ! I was, too, — 
 Born in a farm-house with one-pitched roof, 
 Weather-worn, if you must have proof — 
 
 Pine-Tree Gulch. Ah ! Let me beg 
 You'll search from Key West to Winnipeg, 
 No saner childhood' 11 you find aloof 
 Than under an old Maine farmhouse roof. 
 
 Nicest place that ever was seen, — 
 Rugged old hills and pastures green, 
 Rivers a-plenty with woods between. 
 Sweetest spot beneath the skies 
 
 Soon as apple bloom perfumes rise ; 
 Summer in Mame is time that flies. 
 Charming your mouth and ears and eyes. 
 With treasures of shore where ocean lies. 
 
 And bird-trilled groves and berry pies 
 And myriads else that Yankees prize. 
 
 Grace Agnes Tliompson. 
 
MOTHERLAND 
 
 To-night across my senses steals the perfume of 
 the pine, 
 
 Oh, sweeter far to homesick hearts than draughts 
 of fragrant wine ; 
 
 Again upHft the seagirt isles where sylvan beauties 
 reign, 
 
 And dreams of thee come back to me, Oh, Mother- 
 land of Maine. 
 
 Thy glories gleam before my eyes, as in the olden 
 days, 
 
 I see again the labyrinths of Casco's lovely bays ; 
 
 The sea gull's cry rings in mv ears, as o'er the 
 foam he flies. 
 
 And memory sets her signal lights along the dark- 
 ened skies. 
 
 There's laughter in the swaying pines, there's 
 music in the gale ; 
 
 Each ship upon the sea tonight is some remem- 
 bered sail, 
 
 And peering through the flying mist, that holds 
 me in its spell, 
 
 I cry, "What ho! O mariners!" the answer is, 
 "Farewell !" 
 
 Like phantom ships before the wind, they to their 
 havens flee. 
 
 While I a wanderer must drift upon a shoreless 
 sea. 
 
 But while the fires of being burn w^ithin the con- 
 scious brain. 
 
 My eyes will seek thy far-off coast. Oh, Mother- 
 land of Maine. 
 
 — Robert Rexdale. 
 
CASCO BAY 
 
 Nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer, 
 Does. the o;-olden-locked h'uit bearer 
 
 Through his painted woodlands, stray. 
 Than where hillside oaks and beeches 
 Overlook the long, blue reaches. 
 Silver coves and pebbled beaches. 
 
 And green isles of Casco Bay ; 
 
 Nowhere day, for delay, 
 With a tenderer look beseeches 
 
 " Let me with my charmed earth stay," 
 
 On the grain-lands of the main-lands 
 Stands the serried corn like train-bands, 
 
 Plume and pennon rustling gay ; 
 Out at sea the islands wooded. 
 Silver birches, golden hooded. 
 Set with maples, crimson-blooded. 
 
 White sea-foam and sand-hills gray. 
 
 Stretch away, far away. 
 Dim and dreamy, over-brooded 
 
 By the hazy autumn day. 
 
 —John G. Whittier 
 
 13 
 
CITY OF MY LOVE 
 
 The heavens unfold to Casco's Hfted wave 
 Their richest gems of amethyst and gold, 
 
 Where, blazoned like some grand old architrave, 
 The broad horizon bounds its realms untold. 
 
 O sunny bay ! upon thy sheltered breast, 
 
 Whose deeps unknown are throbbing evermore. 
 Swift sails are borne like white-winged bu'ds, to 
 
 test 
 Yon broad Atlantic-tides, from shore to shore. 
 
 O'erarched with gUn-y from resplendent skies, 
 Bramhall and Munjoy, as twin-sentinels. 
 
 May overlook our growing enterprise 
 
 From east to west, and hear our sweet-toned 
 bells. 
 
 One sunny slope is fresh with mountain air ; 
 
 And one lies broad to islands manifold. 
 Where Nature hangs her summer pictures rare 
 
 Framed round in sunshine, as with burnished 
 gold. 
 
 But Deering woods, of which Our Poet sung, 
 Hath cultured lawns, and broad green avenues. 
 
 Where, summer eves, glad music-echoes rung 
 And fountains played and scattered mists like 
 dews. 
 
 15 
 
O City of our love ! Like some fair queen 
 Whose kingdom hath a beauty all its own, 
 
 Blue skies, blue waves, together meet serene 
 As canopy and footstool, for thy throne. 
 
 Love we thy name — thy grand old elms — thy 
 soil — 
 
 Thy loyal people as a part of thee. 
 Whether we meet in common ways of toil. 
 
 Or where proud intellects hold high degree. 
 
 And in thy homes, fair City of our love, 
 
 Some dear hearts give us of their warmth and 
 light. 
 And gentle words we gather, as the dove 
 
 Brought Hope's leaf-message in her homeward 
 flight. 
 
 Fair be thy skies, Star City of the East ! 
 
 With honors crowned, as with hue jewels set. 
 Thy loveliness undimmed, thy strength increased, 
 
 Look upward thou to heights unmeasured yet. 
 
 — Caroline Dana Howe. 
 
 16 
 
PORTLAND 
 
 From East to West, throughout her broad 
 domains, 
 
 Swept by their lordly rivers flowing h'ee, 
 In lake-strewn forests and pine-mantled plains 
 
 No spot so fair to see : 
 Within her far-famed bay she sits serene, 
 
 Of all Maine's cities the acknowledged queen. 
 
 Like posted sentinels in outer courts, 
 
 Her guards and watchmen stand on many a steep, 
 That she may dwell secure ; three frowning forts 
 
 Train their long guns in menace o'er the deep, 
 With call imperious challenging her foes ; 
 
 Scanning that ocean-path by night, by day. 
 The old red tower upon her hill -top knows 
 
 What ro\'er seeks her bay ; 
 While headland lights, like torches o'er the foam 
 Of darkling waters, guide her wanderers home. 
 
 Not all the ships that in its haven ride 
 
 Can take one native charm from Casco Bay ; 
 Dark, plumy forests swing above the tide 
 
 On island shores, where still, in careless play. 
 The wild duck floats, the lonely plover calls ; 
 
 In wave-washed nooks, by human eye unseen. 
 The glistening kelp forever lifts and falls ; 
 
 And silvery birches lean, 
 In sunny coves, above the hard, white sand, 
 Where glides no skiff, no rover seeks the land. 
 
 When home-bound from the deep, a tiny shape 
 On dancing waves, the fisher's boat is seen 
 
 17 
 
Rounding the eastern shores of that broad cape 
 Named at her death for England's mighty queen, 
 
 How welcome to his gaze each curving line 
 
 From Scarboro's river-points to Barberry creek ! 
 
 At Spurwink's mouth the long, white beaches shine: 
 Beyond, his glances seek 
 
 Richmond's lone island, on whose farthest edge 
 
 Breaks the wild surf o'er Watts' fatal ledge. 
 
 Near the Two Lights, where dangerous waters 
 
 glide. 
 
 He hears Old Anthony's unceasing knell ; 
 Through Portland Roads he hurries with the tide 
 
 Past their white tower, and feels the rising swell 
 That rocks the skiffs in Simonton's broad cove ; 
 
 From Preble's rampart booms the sunset-gun 
 O'er Gushing' s Point, where erst a village throve ; 
 
 And now the sunken sun 
 Crimsons the wave, where gleaming silks outblown 
 Once scarfed a sea with priceless wreckage strewn. 
 
 To one who sits upon the cliff afar, 
 
 Noting the waning splendors of the light. 
 He moves, a floating speck, behind the bar 
 
 Of vStanford's ledge, and soon is lost to sight. 
 Against the lingering radiance of the west, 
 
 With dome and slender steeples ranged a-row. 
 The tree embowered city on her crest 
 
 Burns in a golden glow ; 
 While warmer tints, that through the waters play. 
 Flush the far sails and mantle all the bay. 
 
 — Abba Goo Id Woolso7i. 
 
 i8 
 
THE FIRST PARISH VANE 
 
 Over the city hangs a mist, 
 And the smell of the sea brings a thought of 
 
 storm ; 
 About the chimneys the smoke wreaths twist, 
 And under the eaves the pigeons swarm ; 
 East, north-east, like the finger of doom, 
 Stcadilv pointing into the gloom, 
 On the' First Parish Spire is plainly seen 
 The vane which a century there hath been. 
 Sunshine oiveth it not a kiss ; 
 Shadows it cleaves like the shadows of death. 
 
 —James P. Baxter, 
 
 19 
 
CITY HALL 
 
 Adown the busy street we pass where once 
 Our city's pride reflected h'om her ciome 
 Departing day ; its last bright golden gleam 
 Falling on wearied traveller hast'ning home. 
 
 Its simple grandeur tilled our hearts alike 
 With joy and veneration. For we saw 
 Lpreared in stone, a massive shapely pile 
 Keeping its guard o'er order and o'er law. 
 
 Destroying flames have done their cruel work 
 Hut from the past, a host of memories rise 
 And cling around thy dear familiar walls, 
 No more uplifted to the waiting skies. 
 
 — Carrie TJiompson Loi<'eII. 
 
THE LONGFELLOW HOUSE 
 
 Here's General Peleg" WadswortlVs hat, 
 
 A doughty patriot was he, 
 When George the Third uneasy sat 
 
 Upon his throne across the sea. 
 Here is the sword the general's son, 
 
 Lieutenant Alexander, wore 
 Unsheathed, until the war was done 
 
 Which cut the bonds our sailors bore. 
 
 And here memorials are shown 
 
 Of Henry Wadsworth, young and brave, 
 Who made our banner known 
 
 And found at Tripoli his grave. 
 Theilagthe -Enterprise" once bore 
 
 Lies here, robbed of its colors bright , 
 A cutlass from the "Boxer's "store 
 
 Recalls that deadly naval fight. 
 
 AH these are shown the eager guest 
 
 Whose feet the ancient threshold wear, 
 But not for these the pilgrim quest 
 
 Of those who to this house repair. 
 The warrior has his meed of praise, 
 
 But here the stranger seeks the shrine 
 Of him who sang of love's sweet ways 
 
 With lips aglow with hre divine. 
 
 23 
 
For his sake does the general's sword 
 
 Receive the homage given might ; 
 But mightier is the poet's word 
 
 Flashed from its scabbard for the right. 
 All honor to the grandsire brave 
 
 Who fought to make his country free, 
 And tender praise to him who gave 
 
 His life in distant Tripoli ; 
 
 But for the bard who sweetly sung 
 
 Acadia's tale of trust and woe 
 The home which sheltered him when young 
 
 Shall with love's incense ever glow. 
 For him the fame that time defies, 
 
 Till English hearts and tongues shall cease ; 
 His harp thrilled not to battle-cries, 
 
 But voiced the sacred chords of peace. 
 
 — Adelena E. Dyer. 
 
 24 
 
THE LONGFELLOW STATUE 
 
 This sculptured form, 
 
 'Tis but the semblance, 
 
 And still it is he ! 
 
 Amid the busy throng. 
 
 Calmly he sits ; 
 
 Of all that pass along, 
 
 Heedless is he ! 
 
 His gaze is fixed toward home. 
 
 He loved it well, 
 
 And yet he seeth naught ! 
 
 His ears attent 
 
 To catch the rustling leaves 
 
 Of Deering woods. 
 
 But still he heareth not ! 
 
 Well hath the sculptor wrought, 
 
 Making the seeming — real. 
 
 The fiction — fact. 
 
 And, in enduring bronze, 
 
 His very form hath caught ! 
 
 We, living, thee salute. 
 Sweetest of bards ! 
 Thy voice hath ceased to be. 
 Yet through the world 
 Excelsior's flag unfurled 
 Bears, in its strange device. 
 Thy name and fame ! 
 
 25 
 
Thy " Psalm of Life" still lives 
 And to the weary gives 
 Its heaven-taught blessed words ; 
 In pure "Evangeline," 
 The unsullied life is thine ; 
 While from the " Wayside Inn," 
 And "Village Blacksmith's" din, 
 Thy fancy weaves such forms 
 Of beauty and of grace, 
 That, but to speak thy name. 
 Sets all our hearts aflame, 
 And chief of bards we place 
 Our Longfellow ! 
 
 The poet needs no monument 
 In lasting bronze or stone ; 
 So long as man shall live, 
 His silver words alone 
 Shall keep his memory green ! 
 Yet, fitly, in his boyhood home. 
 The old town by the sea. 
 Beneath these arching elms. 
 Where he so loved to be. 
 His sculptured form we place ! 
 
 And in the days and years to come. 
 When men are asked to name 
 Whom Portland honors first. 
 Deserving poet's fame, 
 All shall point hitherward ! 
 
 — George E. B. Jackson. 
 
 27 
 
THE EASTERN CEMETERY 
 
 Our city guards, upon her eastern steep, 
 
 The graveyard of her old, historic dead, 
 Where seven generations came to sleep 
 
 Near the tall pine whose shadows long have 
 fled : 
 The aged parson, shepherding his flock, 
 
 The brave young warriors, slain in reckless 
 pride. 
 Stout captains, fallen in the battle's shock. 
 
 There slumber, side by side ; 
 And sailors bold, that cruise the deej) no more, 
 Past the known headlands of this winding shore. 
 
 — Abba Goold Woolson. 
 
 2S 
 
MAINE GENERAL HOSPITAL 
 
 ( All Acrostic) 
 
 May heaven protect our dear loved State, 
 And may she stand supremely great ! 
 In noble deeds let her delight, 
 Nor strive but in the cause of right ! 
 Each cry for succor may she hear. 
 Grant that she bend the listening ear ! 
 E' er let her children claim her care. 
 Nor Sorrow speak to empty air ! 
 Enduring though the Nations fall. 
 Raising the weak and blessing all, 
 As first she greets the morning sun. 
 Let love keep bright till time be run ! 
 Honor and fame shall wreathe her brow, 
 On every hill glad Heralds now 
 Sings songs of praise and every plam 
 Prolongs the rapturous song o'er Mame. 
 In sunlight first '' Dirigo" gleams. 
 The mountains whisper to her streams. 
 And over all in might and sway, 
 Love tells her story all the day. 
 
 — Moses Ozvcn. 
 
DEERING PARK 
 
 A leafy home for whispering dryads made 
 
 Remains their haunt, thouo-h murmurin"' streets 
 are near 
 Where Deering's Oaks, within their solemn shade, 
 
 Preserve a hush, a spell, that kindles fear ; 
 As if the bandits of good Robin Hood, 
 
 Or playful fairies, trooped the paths at night. 
 And only hid within the listening wood 
 
 When wanderers came in sight : 
 Yet rushing trains the sturdy branches shake, 
 And children's laughter all the echoes wake. 
 
 Beyond dividing waters, where a field 
 
 Slopes to the mansion on its level brow, 
 Sweet orchard-glades their stern traditions yield 
 
 Of savage conflict centuries ago. 
 And westward still, with fonder memories blent, 
 
 A furzy pasture tells of strange delights : 
 For there the circus held its tournament, 
 
 And there, on gala nights. 
 The fireworks' magic dazed our childish eyes, 
 Shooting its splendors to the startled skies, 
 
 — Abba Goold Woolson. 
 
 31 
 
THE DEERING MANSION 
 
 A little way removed from City street, 
 The Deering House, — a welcome, cool retreat, — • 
 Mid shady lawns, all gleaming white is seen, 
 O'erlooking Deering' s woods and pastures green. 
 
 Here Brackett's dw^elling stood, till one sad day 
 Late summer saw move on their stealthy way 
 From field to field, a cruel Indian band, 
 Who swept, with blazing torch, across the land. 
 
 In sweet security the mansion rests ; 
 On swaying boughs the tuneful birds build nests, 
 And here where history's page is soiled with stains 
 Of Indian wrong, ring out their glad refrains. 
 
 No hint of savage strife breaks on the air, 
 But orchard slope and garden flowers fair 
 And joyous carols breathe their peaceful charms 
 To hearts untouched by fear or vague alarms. 
 
 — Carrie Thompson Lowell. 
 
 33 
 
RIVERTON PARK 
 
 Kind Nature, when the mood inspires, 
 
 Will scatter riches of her store 
 From purple morn till sunset fires. 
 
 And gem the twilight more and more. 
 
 Behold this spot ! her lavish hand 
 
 Has touched the wood, the stream, the sky, 
 Till all the charms of fairy-land 
 
 Enhance the hours which careless i^y. 
 
 Throughout yon valley shines the stream ; 
 
 Along its calm no ripple wakes ; 
 Alive the shadowed branch doth seem 
 
 Whereon the shadowed leaflet shakes. 
 
 The over-arching green, which roots 
 In grassy slope or steep descent, 
 
 Lines either shore where alvvay flutes 
 The bird his joy or his lament. 
 
 These rustic paths fair Flora knows. 
 These arbors found by every wind 
 
 Which from the fragrant forest blows. 
 Then, hastening, leaves the June behind. 
 
 Beside this grove Presumpscot glides, 
 This grove to pleasure dedicate ; 
 
 Here Music pours melodic tides 
 
 Whilst banished Care without doth wait. 
 
 Long shall it wait ! Kind Nature's hand 
 Touched all the wood, the stream, the sky, 
 
 When first she planned this fairy-land 
 Where burdenless the hours fly. 
 
 — Edward Clarence Faryisworth. 
 
 35 
 
WHITE HEAD 
 
 Say what amid the stormy waves, 
 
 Its hoary head majestic rears ; 
 Which yet uninjur'd nobly braves 
 
 The shock of tempests and of years? 
 
 Dehi^'htful spot ! well known, I ween, 
 To ev'ry son of pleasure near ; 
 
 Thy lofty rocks who has not seen ? 
 Thy lofty rocks who holds not dear? 
 
 Have I not seen the painted skiff 
 At anchor ride beneath thy brow ? 
 
 While clouds of smoke around thy cliff 
 Betray' d the gaietv below. 
 
 There have I heard the merry tale, 
 
 There pass'd the sparkling cup around ; 
 
 While rock and forest, hill and dale, 
 With notes of merriment resound. 
 
 And can a soul so dead be found, 
 
 Who ne'er has stray' d thy woods among 
 
 Who took no pleasure in the sound 
 Of echoes from the rocks that rung ? 
 
 Ah, often from thy lofty steeps, 
 
 With caution creeping from the wood. 
 
 The fox perhaps by moonlight peeps, 
 Below u|)on the rolling flood. 
 
 37 
 
There I've surveyed the ocean blue, 
 There gaz'd upon the jj^reen isles near, 
 
 While countless sails would rise to view. 
 And countless sails would disappear. 
 
 'Twas silent, save when in his flight 
 The crow his frequent clamors gave, 
 
 Save when the hawk from loftv height 
 Dashed headlong in the foaming wave. 
 
 And there perhaps full many a pair 
 
 In converse sweet ha\'e bent their way ; 
 
 Have talked of love and prosjK'cts fair. 
 Regardless of declining day. 
 
 Perhaps, too, footsteps of desjxiir. 
 
 This sweet retreat could frequent show, 
 
 Who sought from agonizing care 
 A refuge in the wave below. 
 
 Delightful spot ! while life is mine 
 I'll wander on thy sea-beat shore ; 
 
 F^rom rock to rock still love to climb. 
 And still thy shady wood explore. 
 
 — Nathaniel Deering. 
 
 38 
 
ON CAPE ELIZABETH 
 
 Deep azure wrought with threads of golden sheen,— 
 Silver-gray the interhning fair, — 
 Earth's cloud-robe floats adown a sea of air. 
 Rests the deep ocean tranquilly between 
 Cliffs of dulse brown and isles of emerald green. 
 Sere willows, pensi^•e, bow ; in x'esture rare 
 Proud oaks attend the queenly maple ; there 
 The pine reigns monarch of the sylvan scene. 
 Yon skiffs, the ocean's white-robed children sleep, 
 
 Nor toss in slumber in her fondling arms. 
 Poised on the main, birds rest on southward flight. 
 Peace hovers, pinions spread, o'er land and deep. 
 
 Her wings soft zephyrs lulling hearts' alarms. 
 So rests the Finite in the Infinite. 
 
 — Margaret E, Jordan. 
 
 39 
 
THE SPELL OF THE SHORE 
 
 Ah ! to wake in the purple morning, 
 
 Ere the golden stars grow dim ; — 
 To hear from the wind-swept pine trees 
 
 The breath of their morning hymn : 
 To drink from the fragrant ocean 
 
 Of the perfumed air above 
 And to feel in the soft, cool darkness 
 
 The touch of Almighty Love : — 
 This — this is the spell that binds us 
 
 To the golden shores of Maine 
 And that hlls our hearts with longing 
 
 When the summer comes again. 
 
 To bathe in the sparkling waters, 
 
 To lie on the wind-swept shore, 
 Where the murmur of pines is mingled 
 
 With the mighty ocean's roar ; 
 To follow from some bare hill-top 
 
 The curve of the rock-rimmed sea, 
 With its island-dotted harbors. 
 
 Where the breeze flows fair and free : — 
 To bask in the golden sunshine. 
 
 To roam on the ope n sea. 
 This — this is the summer's glory, 
 
 Ah, this is the life for me ! 
 
 But when, with the cool Se])tember, 
 
 The summer days have fled. 
 And we turn once more to the city 
 
 And the toil for our daily bread. 
 How our pulses throb with power. 
 
 And with eager heart and brain. 
 We cry, with our farewell greeting : — 
 
 ' ' Thank God for the isles of Maine ! ' ' 
 
 — Arthur D. Ropes. 
 
 41 
 
SONGO RIVER 
 
 Nowhere such a devious stream, 
 Save in fancy or in dream, 
 Winding slow through bush and brake 
 Links together lake and lake. 
 
 Walled with woods or sandy shelf. 
 Ever doubling on itself 
 Flows the stream, so still and slow 
 That it hardly seems to flow. 
 
 In the mirror of its tide 
 Tangled thickets on each side 
 Hang inverted, and between 
 Floating cloud or sky serene. 
 
 Swift or swallow on the wing 
 Seems the only li\'ing thing. 
 Or the loon, that laughs and flies 
 Down to those reflected skies. 
 
 Silent stream ! thy Indian name 
 Unfamiliar is to fame ; 
 For thou hidest here alone. 
 Well content to be unknown. 
 
 — Henry IV. Longfelloiv. 
 
 43 
 
SEBAGO LAKE 
 
 Around Sebago's lonely lake 
 There lingers not a breeze to break 
 The mirrors which its waters make. 
 
 The solemn pines along its shore, 
 
 The firs which hang its gray rocks o' er, 
 
 Are painted on its glassy floor. 
 
 The sun looks o' er with hazy eye 
 The snowy mountain-tops which lie 
 Piled coldly up against the sky. 
 
 Dazzling and white ! save where the bleak 
 Wild winds have bared some splintering peak, 
 Or snow-slide left its dusky streak. 
 
 Yet green are Saco's banks below. 
 And belts of spruce and cedar show, 
 Dark fringing round those cones of snow. 
 
 The earth hath felt the breath of spring 
 Though yet on her deliverer's wing 
 The lingering frosts of winter cling. 
 
 Fresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooks, 
 And mildly from its sunny nooks 
 The blue eye of the violet looks. 
 
 45 
 
And odors from the springing grass, 
 The sweet birch and the sassafras, 
 Upon the scarce-felt breezes pass. 
 
 Her tokens of renewing care 
 Hath Nature scattered everywhere 
 In bud and flower, and warmer air. 
 
 — John Grcenleaf Whittle r 
 
 46 
 
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