2. We boiled the chowder on the beach,
A spoon and bowl were given each,
While there stood the pickles just out of reach,
And some played a tune - With bowl and spoon.
3. Some doffed their hats to the Friar gray,
And said a penny for your thoughts to-day,
You look so wise, have you nothing to say,
Give us a speech - As we sit on the beach.
4. Then the old Friar of Friar’s Head,
Standing upon his rocky bed,
Said what to me are pickles and bread,
For I heed not - Your chowder hot.
5. But I am a Friar old and gray,
And keep my vigils night and day,
Over the waters of Quoddy Bay,
Standing alone - In my suit of stone.
6. I watch the boats that come and go,
Their sails gleam like the drifts of snow,
Hither and thither to and fro,
They sail away - Over the bay.
7. Ships in harbor at anchor ride,
Boats that snuggle softly glide,
Drifting slowly with the tide,
I see the creep - Through shadows deep.
8. On summer nights I see you float,
Ladies gay in your pleasure boat,
Till far away you seem but a mote,
The shadows among - Drifting along.
9. To the homes that stand in the twilight gray,
To the hearts whose hopes have been all day,
With you as you sailed out of the bay,
Out of my sight - You go in the night.
10. But who is the boatman to guide you through,
The fogs of the world which hide from view,
That other home that is waiting for you,
Out of your sight - Beyond the night.
11. No home awaits the Friar old,
I stand in the winter’s bitter cold,
Wrapped in the sea fogs briny fold,
Winds of the sea - My Litany.
12. I am rocky and stony old and grim,
Standing here on the waters rim,
While the years go by to the ages dim,
Watching still - Under the hill.
13. Much we wondered for it would seem
That the smoking coffee and chowder’s steam
Had waked the Friar out of his dream,
What else could unlock - The heart of a rock.
14. So we made the Friar a buttercup crown,
And we left him there in his rockweed gown,
Wile the fog came in when the sun went down,
And we sailed for the light - Through the fog and
the night.
This poem was written by Mrs. James Hope Arthur, afterwards Mrs. Marcus Mason, formerly Miss Clara May Stevens, born in Eastport, Maine, June 17th. 1844. Taken from “Cherry Blossoms of Yedds”, and published by D. Lothrop & Co., 1881. It was provided to Elizabeth Barton by her Uncle Arthur Dunphey.
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