Rock is thy surname, saith the Bard
Thou art an adamantine card.
And Baptist Cantin, too, it seems,
Appears 'mongst recollections' dreams,
A carpenter of worth and note,
Who ne'er asked sixpence for his vote.
Helaire Pinard presents his face,
And cheerfully I give him place,
A quiet, rare man, be it known,
Who minds no business but his own.
Joseph Paquette, to thee I give
A line to make thy memory live,
'Mid earliest recollections, thou
Art not the one least thought of now;
Something far better than mere fame
Is thine, it is an honest name!
Thomas E. Woodbury, who made
Tin cans and stovepipes, when the trade
And town was in an infant state,
Back in the days of '28.
And Fletcher, an old Yankee, who
Taught school and flogged his scholars, too
With a good health-inspiring cat,
My blessing on his old white hat!
Tho' scarce, entitled like the rest
By early advent, I think best
To name "The Orator of the West,"
James Spencer Lidstone, child of song,
The "man of memory," vast and long,
Who had, reader you need not start,