Three: Across the Jerseys With the Patriots
See the ancient manse
Meet its fate at last!
Time, in his advance,
Age nor honor knows;
Axe and broadaxe fall,
Lopping off the Past:
Hit with bar and maul,
Down the old house goes!
Sevenscore years it stood;
Yes, they built it well,
Though they built of wood,
When that house arose.
For its cross-beams square
Oak and walnut fell;
Little worse for wear,
Down the old house goes!
On these oaken floors
High-shoed ladies trod;
Through those panelled doors
Trailed their furbelows;
Long their day has ceased;
Now, beneath the sod,
With the worms they feast,—
Down the old house goes!
Many a bride has stood
In yon spacious room;
Here her hand was wooed
Underneath the rose;
O’er that sill the dead
Reached the family tomb;
All that were have fled,—
Down the old house goes!
Once, in yonder hall,
Washington, they say,
Led the New Year’s ball,
Stateliest of beaux;
O that minuet,
Maids and matrons gay!
Are there such sights yet?
Down the old house goes!
Doorway high the box
In the grass-plot spreads;
It has borne its locks
Through a thousand snows;
In an evil day,
From those garden beds
Now ’tis hacked away,—
Down the old house goes!
Edmund Clarence Stedman.
THREE: ACROSS THE JERSEYS WITH THE PATRIOTS