The widow, with her dripping mite
Upon her saddle horn,
Rode up in haste to see the sight
And aid a charity so right,
A pauper so forlorn.
The circling throng an opening drew
Upon the verdant-grass
To let the vast procession through
To spread their rich repast in view,
And Elder J. L. pass.
Then Elder J. with lifted eyes
In musing posture stood,
Invoked a blessing from the skies
To save from vermin, mites and flies,
And keep the bounty good.
Now mellow strokes the yielding pile
From polished steel receives,
And shining nymphs stand still a while,
Or mix the mass with salt and oil,
With sage and savory leaves.
Then sextonlike, the patriot troop,
With naked arms and crown,
Embraced, with hardy hands, the scoop,
And filled the vast expanded hoop,
While beetles smacked it down.
Next girding screws the ponderous beam,
With heft immense, drew down;
The gushing whey from every seam
Flowed through the streets a rapid stream,
And shad came up to town.
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