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[170]

Voyage of the Jettie.

The picturesquely situated Wayside Inn at West Ossipee, N. H., is now in ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless rhymes may be a not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and autumns on the banks of the Bearcamp and Chocorua. To the author himself they have a special interest from the fact that they were written, or improvised, under the eye and for the amusement of a beloved invalid friend whose last earthly sunsets faded from the mountain ranges of Ossipee and Sandwich.

A shallow stream, from fountains
     Deep in the Sandwich mountains,
Ran lakeward Bearcamp River;
     And, between its flood-torn shores,
Sped by sail or urged by oars
     No keel had vexed it ever.

Alone the dead trees yielding
     To the dull axe Time is wielding,
The shy mink and the otter,
     And golden leaves and red,
By countless autumns shed,
     Had floated down its water.

From the gray rocks of Cape Ann,
     Came a skilled seafaring man,
With his dory, to the right place;
     Over hill and plain he brought her,
Where the boatless Bearcamp water
     Comes winding down from White-Face.

Quoth the skipper: “Ere she floats forth,
     I'm sure my pretty boat's worth,

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