THE BURNING OF THE TURNER MILL
81
An Angel came and bore him. To that celestial shore Where all from earthly trials Shall triumph evermore.
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Once more the scene is pleasant O'er Turner's hills and moors; And peaceful lies the village By fair Nezinscot's shores.
Green meadows ever rolling The pine-clad hills between With anon interspersing The river's azure sheen.
And on its pebbly beaches, Where winds the glistening curve, Still soft, pendulous verdure The feathered nestlings serve.
The lofty oaks primeval Still thrust their branches wide; Where silvery wavelets sparkle Upon the bounding tide.
