The Haunted House (The Legend of Grand Tower) Just as the sun kissed the waters Of the Mississippi River filling all waves with beauty; Dancing, rippling, with a quiver. Oh, a picture rare with beauty! Colors Turner could not blend, though he felt them in his heart. Just before it rose the Grand Tower Stately, beautiful and green. Framed with this background of color More beauty has neer been seen. On the high bank to the eastward, Sat a mansion, ruined and old, Broken down, decayed, and crumbling, A heart breaking story told. In a skiff upon its waters Sat an old man, stooped and gray Close beside him sat his grandchild Youthful, beautiful and gay. She was looking to the eastward At the old house on the bank; He was looking at the Grand Tower As the sun in beauty sank. The old man seemed lost in study; Till his grandchild softly said The sun behind the Tower sinking And you know it makes me glad, Just to see its wondrous beauty, As it tells the supper hour; But before we take out lines in Tell the Legend of Grand Tower. Then the old sire, low and gently, Told the story sad and old. How on one side of the Grand Tower, Hid the pirates, brave and bold; On the other side a whirlpool Whirled its rapid winding way, Like a sneaking, furious wildcat Stealthily waiting for its prey. How when boats came down the river With the rich cargo under cover Thieves awaited them on the other. Till the Spector, richly laden Floated down the river broad. Then the pilot brave and noble, Dared the Wildcat, trusted God. Here to view this noted scenery, That should be a nations pride, Came a statesman, rich and haughty, Led a daughter by his side. The daughter of a fair young wife He had buried at her birth, She was all his pride and joy All that he had left on Earth. And they reached here just at sunset; Tis Gods most sacred hour, When his queen, in all her beauty Sits upon her throne, Grand Tower. And the maid was awed with beauty Did not wish to leave it more Said she would be contented With a house upon its shore. So upon the bank, by Grand Tower Grew a mansion, large and handsome. Little did the maiden dream That it could not be her ransom, But a prison house to die in, Ere she had matured in life, For her poor young heart while bleeding Lost its strength, succumbed the strife. For the proud and doting father Had selected for her mate A noble, rich, old barrister Whose name had risen high in state. But the maid rebelled in anger And her heart was filled with hate, She loved the Spectors pilot Her heart had dealt its fate. For the father stern commanding Said, that he would break her pride If she did not do his bidding She would never be a bride. In the house he made her prison; Barred the windows, and the door. Each week she could see her lover Through the checkered lights, from shore. And her food was bread and water Carried to her, day by day, By a deaf and dumb old servant; Not for pity, but for pay. She saw, but could not tell him; And he thought she had grown cold But to him she gave her heart; and to God she gave her soul. Though long years have intervened Yet the story still is told How the maiden kind and gentle Loved the pilot brave and bold. Now, at midnight on the water; Just the time for spook and mouse; You can hear a sound reecho: Coming from the haunted house. By Josephine Morris, aged 17 in 1906
Posted on: Fri, 14 Mar 2014 04:37:28 +0000
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