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Justin Moss Burlingham (1855-1931)

Justin Moss Burlingham was born on 13 August 1855 in Otsego, Michigan, the son of Philip Burlingham and Charity Mandana Phelps. He was once engaged to be married, but it was broken off, and in 1890 he wrote his former fiancee a letter containing obscene remarks. Criminal charges were filed against him, but dismissed on a technicality. Before a corrected charge could be filed, he went to Idaho, where he spent most of his life, never marrying. He drowned in the Payette River near Letha, Idaho, on 9 August 1931, after suffering a heart attack while diving into the river from a springboard at age 75.

We only have two poems by him, although there are probably others.

[The following poem is untitled. At the top of the first page of the stationery on which it was written, in the same handwriting as the poem, is "WoodBine Hotel, Feb. 1886." From the content, it was written on the occasion of the marriage of his brother Arthur Lee Burlingham to Jessie May Swikert, which was on George Washington's birthday, 22 February 1886, before Justin's move to Idaho.]

Upon our nation's glorious day,
The birth-day of its sire,
The day we always hail with joy,
The day that does inspire

Each honest yankey's heart with pride
And energy to win,
In every thing he undertakes
And conquer every sin.

How fitting tis upon this day,
Though wintery is the weather,
That two fond hearts with love's strong chain
Should be bound up together.

And may your paths through life be ever
Like one long summer dream,
Or like a calm and placid lake
Where sunbeams always gleam.

Where sweetest flowers perfume the air,
Where birds sweet songs are heard,
Where the atmosphere has ne'er been jarred
By a harsh or unkind word.

But if the storms and tempests rise,
Your frail bark to avail,
To toss on billows fierce and high
Before a breaking gale,

If adverse winds your canvas rents,
Your rigging bear away,
If thunders roar and lightnings glare
And dark is every day,

With toils and dangers, doubt and fears,
And struggles long and hard,
If all your joys to woes have turned,
If grief your lines have moored,

If it should be your fate to see
Your fondest treasures sink,
And at such times the chain of life
Seems minus a happy link,

Let not your hearts yield to despair,
But nobly stem the tide,
And all through life as man and wife
Let heart to heart abide.

For when we know that love is true,
Though stormy is the weather,
Our sorrows always melt like dew,
Our joys grow strong together.

And thus through life I hope that you
May each be true confiding,
And whether weal or woe befall,
Or through sweet pleasure gliding,

I hope that every day may bring
Some evidence of true honor,
Some token that will plainly show
The heart has another owner.

And as you gaze upon this sheet
That is scrawled from end to end,
Remember that till life is past
You have a sincere friend.

     Yours J. M. Burlingham

[The following poem is included in the "Burlingham Genealogy," an unpublished genealogy compiled by Charles Swikert and his cousin Charles Burlingham about 1955. In it he reminisces about the days he and his cousins Samuel Mark Burlingham and Worthy Wallace Pratt ran a fishing business in Saugatuck, Michigan, in the early 1880s. The poem refers to the death of Wallace Pratt, so was written after 3 March 1905.]

A Reverie of Olden Times

While roaming through this great Northwest,
This land both rich and free,
Oh, dear old native Michigan,
Why should I sigh for thee?

A thousand streams of loveliest flow
Adorn this mountain land;
A thousand mountains crowned with snow
Make scenery far more grand.

Still o'er the waves and watery track
The wild sweet voices call me back;
Again in memories dream I scan
The glories of lake Michigan.

Again I tread the steamer's deck
Again I hoist the sail;
Again I see the whitecaps roll
Before the freshening gale.

Again I face the howling blast
Mid danger, care and toil,
And calmly with composure smile
To see the billows boil.

Again I'm with Sam Smalley,
And we're there our bark to save
There stands Rube, the little Dutchman,
So plucky and so brave.

Again I meet George Barker,
Who tends the beacon light;
And he keeps it burning brightly,
On every stormy night.

Now I am with young Lackey
Setting nets on sunken rocks;
He's a kind and honest fisherman
With a heart to fit an ox.

Again I am with the sailor crew
That crew of jolly tars;
Their ways are rough but their hearts are true
As you bright and shining stars.

I am with you there my hearties,
I can see you, good and true;
Again I hear that boisterous song,
"The boys will take her through."

But the one I best remember,
The best beloved of all,
His arms were strong and brawney,
His form was straight and tall.

He was always kind and jolly,
And you may wager your best hat,
He never knew a fear,
My pard, young Wallace Pratt.

Tho now he's calmly sleeping
Beneath Wisconsin's sod,
All peacefully he's resting,
No more on earth to trod.

In dreams I often see him,
And I fain would call him back
With me to sail the "Ho Boy,"
Our little fishing smack.

I can see him standing aft,
With the tiller firm in hand;
I can hear his clear voice crying,
As he shouts out each command.

"Throw your ballast up to windward."
"Keep your fore sheet well in hand."
"Haul by the jib and stay sail."
"Let the jib topsail stand."

Keep your eye upon the weather,
Yonder comes an ugly puff;
Now water's on our gunwale
Slack off and let her luff.

Now our sail comes flapping loosely,
Our helm stands hard at lee;
Our vessel rights up quickly,
With our sheets all dangling free.

Now again, our sails are filling,
And it makes our rigging crack;
Again our boat's careening
And we're off on the starboard tack.

Again, Pratt cries out cheerly,
As he laughs with boyish glee;
"Old Justin you're a seaman,
O you're just the lad for me.

You did that stunt right grandly.
You surely are a trump;
Now let's pass the Burkhall Dutchman,
The coward and the chump.

See his sail he's closely reefing,
He scarcely flies a rag;
He'd better go and bag his head,
In his old German flag."

Now we're speeding swiftly by him,
And it makes him fairly squeal,
To see our boat lay over,
So that he can see our keel.

Now as we cross his bows,
And he with fear and trembling quails,
We laugh with proud derision,
As Pratt thus the skipper hails.

"Ahoy, you noble Dutchman,
Since you've reefed in all your sails,
You'd better take your jib boom in,
And reef your old coat tails.

And if you feel these little Zephers,
When you go fishing whales
Blend your shoestrings on your anchor line
And reef in your toe nails."

Now old Burkhall stares with wonder,
With fear he stands aghast,
And to his mate makes this remark,
"Dem fools dey prakes deir mast.

De fools dey sure go drowned sum,
On der beach ve picks dem up;
Yust you see vat sail dey carries
On that leetle Ho Boy cup."

Now we're plunging through the breakers
That bars the harbor's mouth,
The wind still blowing freely,
From a little west of south.

Now we sweep into the harbor,
Through clouds of blinding spray;
We receive a joyous welcome,
And we had a glorious day.

Though years have now departed
Since I saw those halcyon days,
All dearly they're remembered,
And I love to sound their praise.

And while roaming through the great Northwest,
This land both rich and free,
Dear friends of old Lake Michigan,
I still remember thee.