If he could only sell the land
Ho would to California go
And wealth would soon be in his hand.
The thought made all his pulse to glow.
He sold the land and went his way,
And the new owner took his place,
Content to labour day by day,
And not afraid the years to face.
The intervale he slowly cleared.
The Upland acres he cleared too.
And since the deep Perdu he feared
A solid bridge o'er it he threw.
The farm became a beauty spot,
A home that left the owner proud,
A man contented with his let.
Envy his outlook did not cloud.
Years passed. At length there came a day
In which the former owner stood,
That from the bank he might survey
The land he always knew was good,
He was amazed. He wrung his hands,
I was a fool, he said at last.
I was the owner of these lands,
And for a dream away them cast.
He had received a grant of land,
Upland and intervale, both good.
Forests untouched by human hand
On both in all their beauty stood.
A lofty bank, a deep Perdu
Cut off the upland from below.
The intervale lay in full view.
It reached to where St, John did flow.
To clear the land required work
Before its worth could well be seen,
No pioneer would dare to shirk
That task. It would starvation mean.
For while the woods provided game,
And fish and fowl abundant were,
The seasons were not all the same.
To wait on wild life was to err.
The owner was not satisfied.
He was ambitious to be rich.
The land was good. Its acres wide,
Yet he aside the whole would pitch.
In California there was gold.
It could be had undoubtedly by
One adventureous and bold,
And he was this assuredly.