 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
34
THE SPRING BY THE CHERRY TREE.
I love to dream of the pleasant dell
Where my childhood's gladsome hours were spent,
That flowery nook recalled so well
With childish thoughts so deeply blent,—
The beautiful stream I used to love,
Where the waters gushed so cool and clear,—
The shaded glen in the aspen grove,
To gentle memory still more dear,—
Yet, musing dreamily, I think
The happiest hours of life to me,
Were spent by the bright and mossy brink
Of the crystal spring by the cherry tree.
Where my childhood's gladsome hours were spent,
That flowery nook recalled so well
With childish thoughts so deeply blent,—
The beautiful stream I used to love,
Where the waters gushed so cool and clear,—
The shaded glen in the aspen grove,
To gentle memory still more dear,—
Yet, musing dreamily, I think
The happiest hours of life to me,
Were spent by the bright and mossy brink
Of the crystal spring by the cherry tree.
Aside from the smoothly trodden way
That I bounded o'er, on my way to school,
A deep, dark, forest-like dingle lay,
Silent and shadowy and cool,—
And there in a dell like an emerald cup,
A vine-hung, blossom-scented nook,
A beautiful spring gushed purely up,
The source of a merrily laughing brook;—
A gnarled old cherry-tree's heavy bough
Drooped o'er it with leaves of shining green,—
Methinks I can almost see them now,
With the sunbeams sifting down between!
That I bounded o'er, on my way to school,
A deep, dark, forest-like dingle lay,
Silent and shadowy and cool,—
And there in a dell like an emerald cup,
A vine-hung, blossom-scented nook,
35
The source of a merrily laughing brook;—
A gnarled old cherry-tree's heavy bough
Drooped o'er it with leaves of shining green,—
Methinks I can almost see them now,
With the sunbeams sifting down between!
'T was there I gathered the eglantine,
Its fragrance flooding the heavy air,
And the delicate stems of the celandine,
With its gem-like flowers so brightly fair;—
And playfully shook from the honied cells,
The drowsy bees which were humming there,
Then weaving in wreaths the golden bells
Laughingly twisted them in my hair;
And there the beautiful violets grew,
With fragrant breath and varying dyes,—
How fondly I likened their gentle blue
To the hue of my mother's loving eyes!
Its fragrance flooding the heavy air,
And the delicate stems of the celandine,
With its gem-like flowers so brightly fair;—
And playfully shook from the honied cells,
The drowsy bees which were humming there,
Then weaving in wreaths the golden bells
Laughingly twisted them in my hair;
And there the beautiful violets grew,
With fragrant breath and varying dyes,—
How fondly I likened their gentle blue
To the hue of my mother's loving eyes!
Ah, often I've stood by that cool, deep spring
Till my bare feet sunk in the yielding moss,
And watched on the surface, the glimmering
Of the broken light as it flashed across;—
Or gazed far down to the circling rocks,
Where the sparkling pebbles would glance and shine,
And a glad face shaded by golden locks,
Was roguishly peeping up at mine,—
Oh, I almost doubt, as I sadly trace
The changes which time has wrought in me,
That mine is the same bright happy face
That shone in the spring by the cherry-tree!
Till my bare feet sunk in the yielding moss,
And watched on the surface, the glimmering
Of the broken light as it flashed across;—
Or gazed far down to the circling rocks,
Where the sparkling pebbles would glance and shine,
And a glad face shaded by golden locks,
Was roguishly peeping up at mine,—
36
The changes which time has wrought in me,
That mine is the same bright happy face
That shone in the spring by the cherry-tree!
For now could I gaze, as in days of yore,
In the answering depths of that limpid wave,
Alas! it would give me back no more
The pleasant picture that then it gave;—
The fearless gladness that childhood wears
Would shine no more on the sunny brow,
For the cares and sorrows of darker years
Have shadowed its careless brightness now;
And never again will my mirrored face
Beam half so brightly and joyously,
As the laughing one I was wont to trace
In the crystal spring by the cherry-tree!
In the answering depths of that limpid wave,
Alas! it would give me back no more
The pleasant picture that then it gave;—
The fearless gladness that childhood wears
Would shine no more on the sunny brow,
For the cares and sorrows of darker years
Have shadowed its careless brightness now;
And never again will my mirrored face
Beam half so brightly and joyously,
As the laughing one I was wont to trace
In the crystal spring by the cherry-tree!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |