[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 145 (1999), Part 8]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 11548-11549]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



                     REMEMBRANCE OF OLD MARBLEHEAD

                                 ______
                                 

                          HON. JOHN F. TIERNEY

                            of massachusetts

                    in the house of representatives

                         Thursday, May 27, 1999

  Mr. TIERNEY. Mr. Speaker, recently I had the pleasure of joining with 
my constituents to celebrate Marblehead, Massachusetts' 350th 
Anniversary! At the festivities a remarkable young eighth grader from 
Marblehead Middle School shared her poem, ``Remembrance of Old 
Marblehead'' with those assembled. I can attest to the fact that her 
words and delivery truly ``stole the show'' and I take great pride in 
sharing Ms. Katherine Fowley's fine work with my Colleagues:

                     Remembrance of Old Marblehead

     I stand on the rocks and I listen to the ancient whispers of 
           the sea,
     They sing the songs of fishermen, of cannon fire, of boats 
           rich with merchandise.
     I lie on the banks of Fort Sewall.
     Suddenly, the benches transform into cannons.
     Trees become young soldiers.
     Townspeople cheer as the proud bow of the Constitution steers 
           into harbor.
     At night men gather around a blazing fire.
     Their triumphant songs rise to meet the surge of ocean waves.
     When I walk on the old roads, I hear the drumming of Glover's 
           Regiment marching over faded cobblestones.

[[Page 11549]]

     On the steps of the Town House the crier is ringing his bell.
     It calls out in the salty air like a foghorn leading sailors 
           home. . . .
     When I walk by the historic houses, I see the spirits of 
           Marblehead.
     A woman stands on a widow's walk. Her white dress flaps 
           around her like the wings of wild seagulls.
     She is waiting for her husband to return.
     She is waiting to see the tall mast emerge from the fog.
     She is waiting.
     The aged bricks and wooden clapboards of these houses are 
           filled with voices.
     And the song of these voices is remember.

     

                          ____________________