Читать книгу Ocean to Ocean on Horseback - Glazier Willard W. - Страница 18
CHAPTER VI.
ALBANY TO SYRACUSE
Nineteenth Day
ОглавлениеBriggs House,
Saint Johnsville, New York,
May Twenty-seventh.
Called for Paul at eight o'clock, and after halting a moment at the office of the Mohawk Valley Democrat, crossed the river to Fultonville, which is connected with Fonda by a substantial iron bridge. Passing through this town, an enterprising one for its size, I continued my journey along the south bank of the Mohawk until I reached Canajoharie, where I stopped at the Eldridge House for dinner.
Here I met another Socrates who had a "favorite prescription" for healing the sore on Paul's back. Spent an hour very pleasantly in the office of the Mohawk Valley Register at Fort Plain, where I learned that Charles W. Elliott of this paper is a son of George W. Elliott, author of "Bonnie Eloise." For many years this song was a great favorite, not only along the Mohawk, but all over the country, and is certainly one of the sweetest ballads of America. There is a swing to the rhythm and charm in the lines which keeps it in memory, and in riding along through the scenes it describes, my thoughts go back to the old days in Rensselaer County, where as a boy I first heard the words.
"O sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides,
On its clear winding way to the sea;
And dearer than all storied streams on earth besides,
Is this bright rolling river to me.
But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these,
Who charms when others all fail,
Is blue-eyed, bonnie, bonnie Eloise,
The belle of the Mohawk vale.
"O sweet are the scenes of my boyhood's sunny years
That bespangle the gay valley o'er;
And dear are the friends, seen through memory's fond tears,
That have lived in the blest days of yore.
But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, etc.
"O sweet are the moments when dreaming I roam
Through my loved haunts now mossy and gray;
And dearer than all is my childhood's hallowed home
That is crumbling now slowly away.
But sweeter, dearer, yes, dearer far than these, etc."
Reached this place at seven o'clock in the evening and will go on to Little Falls after dinner to-morrow. In the morning I had an opportunity to look about me and admire the unusually fine scenery whose romantic aspect was heightened by a rugged tip of the Adirondacks which runs down into the valley at that point. At the foot of the mountain lies the brisk little town of Saint Johnsville, whose manufacturing interests have given it a reputation for miles around.
