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| THIS is a quiet old town, living more in the past than the present; | |
| Dreamily flows its life, like its dreamy, beautiful river. | |
| Grass grows green in its streets, the streets are still and deserted; | |
| Over them arch the elms, the gothic roof of a temple. | |
| Birds are the only choirs, the wind is a deep-sounding organ, | 5 |
| As it plays on the branches of pines hanging over the river. | |
| Moss is deep on thy roofs, O Norridgewock! old are thy houses! | |
| Past are the palmy days when thy stores were busy with traffic, | |
| And on the green were heard the merry voices of children. | |
| Rarely now the dust of thy street is disturbed by a carriage, | 10 |
| And a stranger passing on foot is regarded with wonder. | |
| But thy beauty remains, thy wooded hills and thy orchards, | |
| And the pastures dotted with sheep or ruminant cattle, | |
| And thy Kennebec, unchanged yet constantly changing, | |
| Varying with the sky, now sombre, now gleefully laughing | 15 |
| As the joyous breeze and the sunbeams play on its waters; | |
| Now reflecting its banks and the old oaks bending above it; | |
| Or golden lights from the clouds, when the wind is still and the sunset | |
| Paints on the western sky the glory of gold and of crimson. * * * * * | |
| Sunset Hill looks down on the village, and hither the young folks | 20 |
| Thrice in a summer carry their baskets and lunch on its summit. | |
| There is a lovely view,—the Kennebec valley, the river | |
| Calm as a windless lake, reflecting its banks and its bridges, | |
| Hidden here, and here in sight, till it reaches Skowhegan. | |
| Under us lies the village, but lost mid its elms and its maples. | 25 |
| Watched by the old church tower and the court-house, long since deserted, | |
| And in the west are the mountains, all faint and blue in the distance. * * * * * | |
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