The poem tells the story of Stafford’s cabin, a place remembered only through an old man’s tale passed down forty years later. One night long ago, someone on the mountain heard a shriek and saw a light. By morning, the cabin had burned, and an iron bar and chains were found outside—but no trace of who or what had been with Stafford. Stafford himself was a solitary, uneasy man, and the old man admits he never quite trusted him. The speaker returns to the spot, now deserted and overgrown with goldenrod, where only an apple tree remains as a silent witness. The mood is eerie and subdued: not terrifying, but heavy with an old mystery that time has buried without ever solving.
Stafford's Cabin — Summary
Once there was a cabin here, and once there was a man; And something happened here before my memory began. Time has made the two of them the fuel of one flame And all we have of them is now a legend and a name. All I have to say is what an old man said to me, And that would seem to be as much as there will ever be. "Fifty years ago it was we found it where it sat."-- And forty years ago it was old Archibald said that. "An apple tree that's yet alive saw something, I suppose, Of what it was that happened there, and what no mortal knows. Some one on the mountain heard far off a master shriek, And then there was a light that showed the way for men to seek. "We found it in the morning with an iron bar behind, And there were chains around it; but no search could ever find, Either in the ashes that were left, or anywhere, A sign to tell of who or what had been with Stafford there. "Stafford was a likely man with ideas of his own-- Though I could never like the kind that likes to live alone; And when you met, you found his eyes were always on your shoes, As if they did the talking when he asked you for the news. "That's all, my son. Were I to talk for half a hundred years I'd never clear away from there the cloud that never clears. We buried what was left of it,--the bar, too, and the chains; And only for the apple tree there's nothing that remains." Forty years ago it was I heard the old man say, "That's all, my son."--And here again I find the place to-day, Deserted and told only by the tree that knows the most, And overgrown with golden-rod as if there were no ghost.