Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE GHOST OF THE CRAGS, by CHARLES LOUIS HENRY WAGNER


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE GHOST OF THE CRAGS, by                    
First Line: Midst the wild and open country scarce without the
Last Line: And if once you go, o neighbor, I am sure you'll go again.
Subject(s): Ghosts; Milton, Massachusetts; Supernatural


'Midst the wild and open country scarce without the city's bound,
Rising high above the level are the hills of Milton found,
Rich in legend, rich in story, rich in scenic beauty grand,
Marvellous beyond description, overtopping all the land.

Capped with scrubby oak and hemlock, creviced by a hundred brooks,
Cleft with walls of solid granite hiding many sylvan nooks,
Pleasant valleys 'twixt the hill-crests, views unrivalled of the sea,
Nature's altars, where I worship, such are these Blue Hills to me.

Over towards the eastern portion are the Crags of which I write,
Rising sheer from out the valley, fearful in their depth and height,
Railed with but a bar of iron, just a mockery it seems,
As if man, poor puny mortal, could defy old Nature's schemes.

Oft I wander to the crag top, where my thoughts can, undisturbed,
Come and go with rhythmic motion, where my mind is not perturbed,
And ensconced within a cradle made by shelving rocks and grass,
There I rest and view God's country, there the hours pleasant pass.

One fine day in balmy June time, with my book and pencil I
Climbed the rough and rugged footpath to my fav'rite haunt on high,
And 'twixt reading, thinking, writing, hours passed and soon the sun
Sank behind the great hill's tower, for the day was almost done.

With a sigh I rose and gathered book and cap within my hand,
And prepared to journey homeward, loth to follow Time's command,
When, from out the dark'ning shadows of a huge, sharp balanced stone,
Rose a figure grim and savage, and I heard an eerie moan.

In my fright I stood and trembled, daring not to move or speak,
Wild-eyed, staring, whilst the shadows longer grew of ev'ry peak,
And the vision viewed me calmly, deigning not to notice fear,
Which I own I showed a-plenty, with that awful presence near.

Still I noted, spite my tremor, that the form which brazen stood
Close before me was a native of some wild, unbroken wood,
Painted cheeks, bedecked with feathers, folded arms, impassioned mien,
Just like pictures which in childhood I had loved and often seen.

Must'ring courage in the twilight, I at last took heart and spoke
Words like these, "Who are you stranger? Speak, your presence doth provoke;
Wouldst thou slay a fellow mortal, harmless, weak and quite alone?
Let me pass, nor stay my going," thus I spake with anxious tone.

With his piercing eye fixed on me, hideous, uncanny, quite,
Stood he there as if unmindful of my seeming fearful plight,
Then I heard a voice which sounded like the swish of rushing wind,
Soft and musical and soothing, lulling fears I had in mind.

With the first calm uttered sentence I at once again took heart,
For the spectre which stood near me scarcely made a move or start,
But his voice I heard distinctly, sad it sounded to my ears,
Yet so calm and withal quiet that it soothed my doubting fears.

"Listen, Pale-Face, to my story," were the words that greeted me,
"Listen, fear thou not nor falter from the form of Ochmulgee;
I was once a chieftain mighty of the Narragansetts brave,
And I ruled these hills and valleys, here my wigwam shelter gave.

Long before your tribe of white men entered into yonder bay,
Here I lived and hunted daily, here the gentle deer did slay,
Over where you sun is sinking, there upon the highest hill,
Oft I worshipped the Great Spirit, there I tried my hunter's skill.

Many were the moons which slowly rose to view and died away,
While I led the tribe of warriors to the chase and to the fray,
Ere these things which did befall me, things which I will now relate,
Of Kenabeek, called the Serpent, coward, thief and reprobate.

I had maids and squaws in plenty, but my heart was set upon
Bounding Brook, a gentle maiden whom I wooed and whom I won;
Glad was she to join my wigwam, dress the product of my chase,
Build my fire, fill my pipe-bowl, fairest was she of our race.

But one day the wicked, lying Kenabeek came gliding round
While I hunted through yon valley, and alone the maiden found,
And he tried to steal her from me, steal my gentle Bounding Brook,
Force her to forsake and leave me, but the maiden he mistook.

Up she flew and like a deer sped to the spot where I had gone.
And she told me all Kenabeek's lying tongue had spoke upon,
How the blood surged to my temples, how my heart was filled with hate,
How I longed to crush the Serpent, scalp the lock upon his pate.

With my tomahawk I hastened, gave the lying coward chase,
And he climbed these hills and valleys, but I caught him in this place;
Here we fought upon this crag-top, here we strove with might and main,
Blood gushed forth like spouting water, neither seemed to mind the pain.

Suddenly, with whoop of triumph, I caught hold of Kenabeek,
And my waning strength I mustered, threw him o'er this mighty peak,
And I watched him as he tumbled into the great deeps below
Till I saw him dead and lying where yon spring doth ever flow.

Fain would I have then arisen, but the poison on the dart
With which he had pierced my vitals had already reached my heart,
So I sang my death-song slowly here behind this balanced stone,
Like a brave and noble warrior, without murmur, without groan.

Ere my eyelids closed forever Bounding Brook had searched and found
Where I lay, and where you rested, there my hurts she gently bound,
Seated on the ground beside me, knowing that I soon must go
To the land of all my fathers, yet her grief she did not show.

Soon my spirit left the body, and beneath where we now stand,
In a cave-like hole she placed me, covered me with earth and sand,
And my spirit hovered near her, loth to leave my Bounding Brook,
But the Manitou had called me, called, and so my leave I took.

When the Great and Noble Spirit heard my tale and how I slew
Kenabeek, the lying serpent, and his body down there threw,
Pleased He was and gave permission that I might revisit here
This fair spot as when I left it, when the moons shall mark each year.

So to-day you see me, Pale-Face, I, the great chief Ochmulgee,
And I would you'd tell your people what's been told you about me,
Tell them not to move a single stone from off this lofty mound,
Tell them, Pale-Face, of my story, say that this is hallowed ground.

Tell them that this pile of granite is a monument to me,
That it marks the place where Death came and laid hold of Ochmulgee,
Tell them this, and tell them truly,—Hark! I hear the Great Chief's cry,
I must go, farewell, O Pale-Face, tell my tale and do not lie."

In a twinkling of an eyelash he was gone, I was alone,
And the faint tints of the twilight proved that day was almost gone,
Wondering and deeply thoughtful, I sought out my downward road,
And just as the stars came shining I approached my own abode.

To my study I then hastened, and I wrote this lengthy tale
So the children of the future will respect that hill and vale,
Did just what the spectre bade me, not a word did I omit,
And I've told my story truly, every detail, every bit.

If you doubt this story, neighbor, go and see this mighty rock,
Climb its heights and view the country, listen to the breezes talk,
Go and drink the pure, sweet water of the spring within the glen,
And if once you go, O neighbor, I am sure you'll go again.





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