C]Don't you reme[Am]mber sweet [Dm]Alice, Ben [D]Bolt,-
Sweet Alice whose[G7] hair was so [C]brown,
Who[C] wept
with de[Em]light when you [F]gave her a [Dm]smile,
And[G] trembled with [G7]fear at your [C]frown,,,F,,C
In the [G]old
church-[D7]yard in the [G]valley, [C]Ben [G]Bolt,
In a corner obs[A7]cure and a[Dm7]lone,
They have [c]fitted a [Em]slab
of the [F]granite so [Dm]gray,
And [G]Alice lies [G7]under the [C]stone.
They have [c]fitted a [Em]slab of the [F]granite so [Dm]gray,
And [G]Alice lies [G7]under the [C]stone.
Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,
Which stood at the foot of the hill,
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
Has followed the olden din.
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?
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 golden grain.
And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt,
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,
And of all the boys who were schoolmates then
There are only you and I.
There is a 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,
There never was change in you.
Twelve months twenty have past, Ben Bolt,
Since
first we were friends-yet I hail
Your presence as a blessing, your friendship a truth,
Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale.
