Dont you remember sweet Alice,Ben Bolt
Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown,
Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown?
In the old church-yard in the valley,Ben Bolt,
In a corner obscure and alone,
They have fitted a slab of garnite so gray,
And Alice lies under the stone.
Unde the Hickory tree,Ben Bolt
Which stood at the foot of the hill,
Together we've lain in the noonday shade,
And listend to Appleton's mill.
The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces,Ben Bolt
The rafters have tumbled in,
And a quiet which crawls around the walls as you gaze,
Has followed the olden din.
Do you mind the cabin of logs,Ben Bolt.
At the edge of the pathless wood,
And the button ball tree with its motley limbs,
Which nigh by the doorstep stood?
The cabin to ruins have gone,Ben Bolt,
The tree you would seek for in vain;
And where once the lords of the forest waved,
And grass and golden grain.
And dont you remember the school,Ben Bolt,
With the Master so cruel and grim,
And the shaded nook in the running brook
Where the children went to swim?
Grass grows on the Masters grave ,Ben Bolt,
The spring of the brook is dry,
And of all the boys that were schoolmates then,
There are only you and I.
There is a change the the things I loved,Ben Bolt,
They have changed from the old to the new;
But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth,
There never was a change in you.
Twelve months twenty have past,Ben Bolt,
Since first we were friends-yet I hail
Your presence a blessing,your friendships a truth,
Ben Bolt of the salt sea gale.
Thomas Dunn English-(1819-1902)