I remember the haunted house
That stood beside of the road
Down in the valley between the ridges
To the Eastward of the bridges.
Many a weird tale was told me
By Grandfather
Of the strange things you would hear and see.
The house was moved from one to another place
With all this the Ghosts kept pace.
The rent of the house was free
If from the Ghosts you wouldn’t flee.
Often times mid fear and gloom
You would hear footsteps
Pass from room to room.
Search, find no one there.
Then someone would hear them on the stair.
You would think of the dagger in the cellar wall
Many a man noted for being stout.
Could neither move or pull the dagger out.
The good wife was oft times startled
By the barking of the house dog
When he passed the fire place
and its huge back log.
You could see and almost feel
The spirits, when they entered
The closed window and danced
On Grandma’s spinning wheel.
In the evening quite hush
an illumed ball would seemingly
Leave the house,
cross the road
And disappear in the brush.
The belated traveler was oft times scared
When at such phenomena
His trusty steed pranced and reared
In 1848 these demonstrations were very great
And little understood.
Were deemed omens of ill instead of good.
Who knows if ones spirit doth linger around
That hallowed place called home!
Or through endless space forever roam.
Who knows if the faintest star
Mayhaps be the dwelling place of
Millions of mortals toiling and dreaming
The same as we are.
Can you forecast the countless ages
Thru which our existence has already past.
Or will in the future pass!
The giver of gifts has for us.
Many mansions in store.
The change we call death
Is a pathway leading to one more.
- N. Jewett, the farmer poet of Hampton
Sacred to the Memory of Ebenezer Jewett, 1st