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Cobbler Keezar's vision.

This ballad was written on the occasion of a Horticultural Festival. Cobbler Keezar was a noted character among the first settlers in the valley of the Merrimac.

the beaver cut his timber
     With patient teeth that day,
The minks were fish-wards, and the crows
     Surveyors of highway,—

When Keezar sat on the hillside
     Upon his cobbler's form,
With a pan of coals on either hand
     To keep his waxed-ends warm.

And there, in the golden weather,
     He stitched and hammered and sung;
In the brook he moistened his leather,
     In the pewter mug his tongue.

Well knew the tough old Teuton
     Who brewed the stoutest ale,
And he paid the goodwife's reckoning
     In the coin of song and tale.

The songs they still are singing
     Who dress the hills of vine,
The tales that haunt the Brocken
     And whisper down the Rhine.

Woodsy and wild and lonesome,
     The swift stream wound away,
Through birches and scarlet maples
     Flashing in foam and spray,—

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