Classic Poem

I've been to Red Hoss Mountain, where Field once dwelt and wrote;
I've seen the Place de Casey, but Casey's table d'hote
Is gone; and so is Casey. A solitary pine
The fires have spared now shadows the Gosh-all-Hemlock Mine.

There's not a cabin standing, so that a man can say,
" The conversazzhyony in this abode held sway. "
Aye, everything has perished save earth and sky and space;
The bard of Red Hoss Mountain is gone to his own place.

The mines are all abandoned, the rain-washed trails are dim;
But where are all the people who tramped these trails with him?
And where are all the actors he staged here long ago,
When magpies, " like winged shadows, were fluttering to and fro " ?

The trees that made the forest have fallen, one by one,
Until Old Red Hoss Mountain lies bare beneath the sun;
Yet, in the deathlike stillness that hangs upon the air,
I love to sit and fancy I feel his presence there.
Sweet soul! He knew a heartache if e'en a robin cried,
Then how he must have sorrowed when Martha's baby died;
When strong, rough men stood weeping who had not wept for years;
With Martha's heart nigh breaking and Sorry Tom in tears.

The brook that sang so " lonesome-like, an' loitered on its way "
Is singing just as softly and lonesome-like to-day.
One pine above the hemlock and just one willow weeps
Down in the ragged canyon where " Martha's younket " sleeps.