But nought beside--ah, woe betide!--
Which grew with me is here--
The home, the hall, the mill, the all
Which young life holds so dear.
The school-house, spring, and little thing,
With eyes so bright and blue,
Who'd steal away with me and play
When school's dull hours were through,
Are memories now; and yet, oh! how
It seems but yesterday
Since I was there, with that sweet dear,
In the wild wood at play.
The hill was steep where we would leap;
The grape-vine swing hung high,
And I would throw the swing up so
That, startled, she would cry.
But though she cried, she still relied
(And seemed to have no fear)
On me to hold the swing, and told
Me "not to frighten her."
But I was wild, and she no child,
And not afraid, I deemed;
So tossed as high the swing as I
Could--when she fell and screamed.
She was not harmed; but I, alarmed,
Ran quickly to assist,
And lifted her, all pale with fear,
Within my arms, and kissed
Her pallid cheek, ere she could speak:
But I had seen, you know,
(Ah! what of this? that sight and kiss
Was fifty years ago,)
That little boot and pretty foot,
So neatly formed and small--
The swelling calf, and stifled laugh--
How I remember all!
That lovely one has long since gone,
Is dust, and only dust, now;
Yet I recall that swing and fall,
As though it had been just now.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197