There's a sulphur spring in North River's bed,
Visited by many now numbered dead.
Their spirits have long since fled away,
To the bright world of endless day.
The mountains around it are rough and high;
And always viewed by the passers-by,
The laurels are thick when in bloom;
And are admired by all, as I presume.
The rustic cabins that around it stand;
Were built by our fathers by their own hand,
And the guests at the hotel were frequently seen;
To mingle with those who camped on the Green.
Many a day have I spent there;
Enjoying the water and the sweet mountain air,
Flirting with the girls, so fair and bright;
Or promenading the Green in the bright moonlight.
Then off to the ballroom which stood close by,
Where music was made by Will, Frank and I,
The youngsters in couples at their places on the floor;
Are ready to shuffle at the order "Forward four!"
"Balance your partners", the first order would be;
After each had confronted their own vis-a-vis,
"Swing corners to the right, and prominade all";
Were familiar calls in this innocent ball.
All this was kept up from early twilight;
But by no means continued throughout the night,
How long we could do this, we never could tell;
For we had to stop at the jingle of the bell.
Ah! Those good days are past and gone;
But a rising generation is fast coming on,
The time will be short when they will be seen;
In these rustic old cabins that stand on the Green.
This poem was probably written by Mr. Harry Clemmer, who owned a cabin near the Maury
River, and who visited Wilson's Springs many times during the 1950's. It is based on a
a speculative recollection of activities which took place during the operation of the Hotel.
