OLD IPSWICH IN NEW ENGLAND

EDWARD P. WADE

Alton , Ill.

 DEAR Ipswich ! happily ensconced

Where sea and river meet,

To thee, in fancy or in fact,

Swift turn my willing feet.

In childhood, by a Mother's voice,

Thy charms were oft rehearsed;

And later, sweet experience proved

How well the teller versed.

Thy night dark stream from sheltered rock

That devious channel takes,

Till ambered by the rush of fall

In useful tumult breaks:

Then flows from out thy rock-bound cove,

With weightier import pressed,

Seeking in ever widening lines.

Its fulness and its rest.

Thy sinuate roads and shadowy elms,

The hillock and the mead,

Crowned with sanctuary spires,

Or hamlets of the dead.

Thy Heartbreak, Town, and Castle Hills,

Rugged of face and steep,

Like outposts of a citadel

That watch on ocean keep.

Dear Ipswich ! in thy lineaments,

Strong, sturdy, true and fair ,

I read the character of those

Who lived, loved, labored there.

How sweet the memory of those sons

Who proved the adage true,-

" They pretty are, and only they,

Who ever pretty do."

 Contents