Chapter III: Canto III

1796-1812.
ANCIENT BUILDINGS.

More than threescore years are buried
With the ages long departed,
In the annals of Lancaster,
Of the city I am singing,
Since the place of law and justice,
Since the venerable forum,
The first court-house was erected.
Seventeen hundred eight and ninety,
Reads the record of the city.
Logs adorned its sides and summit,
Logs without and logs within it,
Building fashioned all so lowly,
That 'twas deemed unfit to linger
On its public, broad arena,
In the center of the township.
Down it fell one day thereafter,
(In eighteen hundred and eleven,
Of the ever moving cycle,)
And a nobler and a better,
Made of brick and stone and mortar,
Reared its ghostly head among us,
Reared its high and white cupola,
With its bell and towering belfry,
Clanging far and clanging nearer,
Tolling loud and tolling softly,
Ringing forth the day's proceedings.
Strangers, coming to the region
Of the city quaintly outlined,
Of its square, right-angle outlines,
Saw from hill-tops in the distance,
Saw from valleys and from lowlands,
This great pile of architecture,
In the central broad arena,
In the middle of the township.
Fence of stone with iron railing,
By and by extended round it,
Blooming locusts brown and lofty
Cast their cooling shadows o'er it.
On its rostrum men of power
Oft declaimed to judge and jury;
At its bar were earnest pleadings
For the erring and the guilty.
In its halls were panoramas,
Lectures, shows, and exhibitions,
All the public entertainments,
All the tragic and the comic,
All the festivals and music,
All the city's merry-making.
'Round and 'round the gorgeous structure,
(Gorgeous in that generation,)
Stood in rows the public houses,
Primitive and unpretending;
But their tenants knew no others,
They were simple, frugal tenants,
They were happy in their folly.

The year eighteen hundred, fifteen,
(Just beyond my canto's limits,)
Saw the good work of improvement,
Still progressing, moving forward,
Still advancing, ever onward.
In the suburbs of the city,
Rose a noted house of worship,
Large and generous in model,
Called Republican and holy,
Called Old Church in eras later,
Where all Christian sects might gather,
Save the Catholics, named Roman,
And the curious Shaking Quakers.
These might not be met as fellows,
By the followers of Jesus;
These were aliens from the sheepfold.
All around the sacred building,
Slept the dead, both high and lowly,
(For death came into the city,)
All around the sacred building,
Tombs and slabs of stone and granite,
Marked the resting of the sainted,
Marked the resting of the wicked,
Of the infant and the aged,
Of the slave and of the master,
Of the mourned, the loved departed.
And the Sabbath bells came pealing,
In sweet echoes on the breezes,
As the willing feet went weekly
To the worship of Jehovah.

Nearer to the stirring places,
Near the thoroughfare of business,
In the active, growing city
I am chanting now in measures,
Was erected in this era,
In its earliest beginning,
Yet another famous building,
The Academy of Garrard.
Pile revered in ancient glory,
Pile renowned in modern story,
Ever honored Alma Mater
Of distinguished men and women.
Here the noble cause of learning
First received the great momentum
That has sent it rolling downward,
In the hands of willing helpers,
To the ages of the present.
Here on walls of polished plaster,
Were inscribed in myriad numbers,
Names of unforgotten heroes,
Names of genius and of talent,
Names beloved in social circles,
Names renowned on fields of battle,
Honored names in senate chamber.
And the sacred pile was cherished,
By each absent son and daughter.
Many years beyond this period,
(Well I ken the oft told story,)
On a sunny day in autumn,
When the leaves were "sere and yellow,"
When the woods were melancholy,
There were little children clustered
In this notable old school-room;
There were little children striving,
For the prize-book and the medal,
Children conning words in triumph,
Down the line of b-a-baker,
Children frowning o'er the problems
Of the higher rules and text-books,
When a shadow crossed the doorway,
And there followed it, a stranger.
Then the children quickly started,
At the bidding of the teacher,
And in attitude of homage,
Gravely gazed upon the stranger.
On his venerable person,
On his hair all white and silvered,
On his brow all seamed and furrowed,
On his countenance so noble,
Gazed with looks of silent wonder.
He surveyed the group with pleasure,
He beheld them with emotion;
And his heart was touched within him,
All his spirit stirred within him,
At their prompt, respectful greeting,
At their attitude of welcome.
Turning then to front the teacher,
He said, "Madam, I am weary,
I am travel-worn and dusty,
I have wandered long and restless,
I have come from distant regions,
To behold this treasured school-house,
See again its wall all penciled,
With the names I well remember,
With the deeds of my school-fellows;
To review once more the playground,
Where my boyhood's days were merry;
Jackman's Cave, the pond, the meadow,
And the spring at Captain Baker's;
All these places I have trodden,
Where we played and where we skated,
Where we loved and where we quarreled,
Where we shouted joyous laughter,
Where we fought our little battles:
All these haunts of cloud and sunshine
Are so bright on mem'ry's pages."
Then he paused and looked about him,
But alas! the walls were covered,
Covered o'er with paper hangings,
Of the style so new and modern,
And the names were lost forever,
To the eyes of eager mortals,
To the gaze of wand'ring schoolmates.
Yet their impress e'er must linger,
Linger on till time shall sever
All the links this earth hath given,
All the tender links of feeling.
Alexander Bruce, the stranger,
Feasted well his eyes so faithful,
On the scenes long since familiar,
On the playground of his childhood.
He was one of many others,
Who have swelled the honored columns.
He returned with heart o'erflowing,
To the spot he fondly cherished,
And with pleasurable sadness
He now gazed upon the changes.
Change was wrought on all about him,
Change was wrought on all within him,
Yet the walls beloved were standing,
'Mid the wreck of worlds beyond them,
Bearing witness to her children,
Standing monuments of witness.
And John Bruce, the great mechanic,
Was the brother of the stranger;
Was another noted scion
Of this noble house of learning.
To his genius of invention
Is the river world indebted
For the cutting of the sawyers,
Of the treach'rous snags and sawyers,
That were wont to plunge the steamer,
Boldly ploughing through the waters,
Into labyrinths of danger.

Long the line of brave descendants,
Long the line of mental giants,
From this aged Alma Mater,
From this crumbling hall of science,
The Academy of Garrard.