. The history of Springfield in Massachusetts, for the young; being also in some part the history of other towns and cities in the county of Hampden. s of the Hilland the Street, and snowballand other fights were commonbetween Hillers and Streeters. When a boy of eitherset passed the line of School and Spring streets he was sub-ject to attack by the boys of the other side. The Armory has long been noted for its excellent gunsand the old Springfield musket did good service in the 128 HISTORY OF SPRINGFIELD Civil war; but, good as it was, the present Springfield rifleshows what may be accomplish
. The history of Springfield in Massachusetts, for the young; being also in some part the history of other towns and cities in the county of Hampden. s of the Hilland the Street, and snowballand other fights were commonbetween Hillers and Streeters. When a boy of eitherset passed the line of School and Spring streets he was sub-ject to attack by the boys of the other side. The Armory has long been noted for its excellent gunsand the old Springfield musket did good service in the 128 HISTORY OF SPRINGFIELD Civil war; but, good as it was, the present Springfield rifleshows what may be accomplished by continual tower of the Arsenal is eighty-eight and one-half feethigh and among those who have ascended it for the fine viewof this valley was the poet Longfellow. In his day a floorwas nearly filled with guns, stacked in frames. His attentionwas called by Mrs. Longfellow to the fact that these stackedarms resembled the pipes of an organ; and to this circumstanceis due one of the finest poems ever written in the cause ofuniversal peace. The prophecy in the second stanza was fullyrealized a few years later in the Civil OLD TIMES AND NEW 129 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealingStartles the villages with strange alarms. Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,When the death-angel touches those swift keys! What loud lament and dismal MiserereWill mingle with their awful symphonies! I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus. The cries of agony, the endless groan,Which through the ages that have gone before us. In long reverberations reach our own. On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, Through Cimbric forest roars the Norsemans song, And loud, amid the universal clamor, Oer distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. I hear the Florentine, who from his palaceWheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din. And Aztec priests upo
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