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| Mount Toppin is located in Preble township, New York, near center of this 1923 photo. |
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| A view of Mt. Toppen from Little York Lake. |
THE FARM ON MOUNT TOPPIN.
ROYAL A. JOHNSON.
To dream
of my childhood is pleasant, how pleasant!
'Tis pleasure of heart, and 'tis pleasure of
brain;
To stand
on Mount Toppin, and gaze on its wildwood,
And drink the sweet sap of its maples again;
'Tis a
dream o'er the chasm of time now returning,
Commingled with memories of scenes that were
sad;
With my
heart full of yearning, I sigh in the gloaming,
For the days of my childhood, when I was a
lad.
O, those
days in the summer, 'mid sweet scented meadows,
Where I roamed with my playmates, and dreamt
not of care,
Come
flitting like shadows; and effulgent in sunshine
Were those innocent pleasures, I found
everywhere;
Like the
fragrance of flowers are the memories of boyhood,
And the life on the farm, with my heart full
of joy,
But alas,
what a change I see at each footstep;
From the scenes as I found them, when I was a
boy.
The chill
of the autumn, that turns sere and yellow
The verdure of springtime, has touched with
its blight,
The trees
in the forest, the flowers and the clover;
And the bright hues of falltime appeal to the
sight,
Like the
sunset of life, with its slow-fading glories;
The scene is entrancing, and I gaze on in
joy,
But my
mind becomes sad, when I think of the missed ones
That made my heart glad when I was a boy.
The land
is the same, and the fruit in the orchard
As fragrant in odor, as juicy and red,
But the
trees tell of seasons, of winters and summers,
As plainly as silver marks time on the head;
And the
little red house, where our grandmother lived,
Where we saw her, and loved her, and closed
her dear eyes,
Speaks
aloud from its ruin, a warning to mortals,
Of the short span of life, with its tears and
its sighs.
As I pass up
the lane to the house at its ending,
I see now no sign of life that was there;
The rooms
are deserted, the tenants have vanished,
And chaos reigns boldly o'er all that was
fair;
And those
faces, that welcomed my coming so sweetly,
Those dear ones I loved so, where are they
to-night?
Like the
leaves in the wind have they scattered and parted,
And many, too many, have passed from our
sight.
The walls
that were wont to reflect the fire's shadows,
Stare coldly in blankness, so painful to see;
And the
old attic bedroom, where I slept in sweet slumber,
Has scarcely a feature familiar to me.
The
cradle, the show shoes, the trunks, and the boxes,
Have gone with the voices, so sweet to my
ear;
And hushed
is the kitten, and the dogs earnest barking,
And the sounds once familiar, I now long to
hear.
The havoc
of time has shattered this household,
And I turn from the house, with a heart full
of pain,
But my
mind wanders back to the scene of my childhood,
And the tears flow freely, as my thoughts
turn again,
To the
loved ones, now sleeping, 'mid mosses, and wildflowers,
That makes the old farm a sweet memory;
Mount
Toppin, thy pleasures have faded forever,
Tho' my heart, ever faithful, clings kindly
to thee.
Click this webpage for another poem by a native poet about the Tioughnioga River and Mount Toppin: http://jeffpaine.blogspot.com/2013/08/tioughnioga.html
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