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| DON’T you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt,— | |
| Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown, | |
| Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile, | |
| And trembled with fear at your frown? | |
| In the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Bolt, | 5 |
| In a corner obscure and alone, | |
| They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray, | |
| And Alice lies under the stone. | |
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| Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt, | |
| Which stood at the foot of the hill, | 10 |
| Together we ’ve lain in the noonday shade, | |
| And listened to Appleton’s mill. | |
| The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt, | |
| The rafters have tumbled in, | |
| And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze | 15 |
| Has followed the olden din. | |
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| Do you mind of the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt, | |
| At the edge of the pathless wood, | |
| And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs, | |
| Which nigh by the doorstep stood? | 20 |
| The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt, | |
| The tree you would seek for in vain; | |
| And where once the lords of the forest waved | |
| Are grass and the golden grain. | |
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| And don’t you remember the school, Ben Bolt, | 25 |
| With the master so cruel and grim, | |
| And the shaded nook in the running brook | |
| Where the children went to swim? | |
| Grass grows on the master’s grave, Ben Bolt, | |
| The spring of the brook is dry, | 30 |
| And of all the boys who were schoolmates then | |
| There are only you and I. | |
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| There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt, | |
| They have changed from the old to the new; | |
| But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth, | 35 |
| There never was change in you. | |
| Twelvemonths twenty have past, Ben Bolt, | |
| Since first we were friends—yet I hail | |
| Your presence a blessing, your friendship a truth, | |
| Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale. | 40 |
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