Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) By William Barnes |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
THE “HOME-GROUND.” |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
 | Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) |  |
49
THE “HOME-GROUND.”
[_]
The “Home-ground” is often the name of the field that is next to a farm house, and usually the “Campus Martius” of the children of the family, and so endeared to them in after life by the associations of their youth.
How welcome came before my sight
That old face seen by this day's light,
Although his cheeks no longer glow
With burning redness; and although
His hair, once black's the glossy crow,
Is white; for when he spoke my name,
I found his voice was still the same
As I had heard in “home-ground;”
That old face seen by this day's light,
Although his cheeks no longer glow
With burning redness; and although
His hair, once black's the glossy crow,
Is white; for when he spoke my name,
I found his voice was still the same
As I had heard in “home-ground;”
When ruddy suns withdrew the day
From games that we had met to play,
And quoits rose up, in high-bow'd flight,
From strong arms clad in snowy white,
And outstretched hands, and eager sight,
Were bent to stop the flying balls,
With eager strides, and slips, and falls,
On summer grass in “home-ground.”
From games that we had met to play,
50
From strong arms clad in snowy white,
And outstretched hands, and eager sight,
Were bent to stop the flying balls,
With eager strides, and slips, and falls,
On summer grass in “home-ground.”
There, touching light, with flying feet,
The grassy ground, we ran, wind-fleet;
Or sprang, hound-light, with lofty springs
O'er gate and stream in lively strings;
The while our sisters, in their swings,
Were laughing loud in merry mood,
At play, in blushing maidenhood,
Below the trees in “home-ground.”
The grassy ground, we ran, wind-fleet;
Or sprang, hound-light, with lofty springs
O'er gate and stream in lively strings;
The while our sisters, in their swings,
Were laughing loud in merry mood,
At play, in blushing maidenhood,
Below the trees in “home-ground.”
With backs of white and legs of red,
There cackling geese, in summer, fed;
While rustling barley, load by load,
With loose-straw'd sides that hardly show'd
The rolling wheels, so slowly rode
Behind the horses, nodding low
Their halter'd heads, and coming slow
To barton up through “home-ground.”
There cackling geese, in summer, fed;
While rustling barley, load by load,
With loose-straw'd sides that hardly show'd
The rolling wheels, so slowly rode
Behind the horses, nodding low
Their halter'd heads, and coming slow
To barton up through “home-ground.”
When o'er the fields the night lay brown
E'er father yet was come from town,
There stood our mother, list'ning round
With holden breath, to hear the sound
Of horses' footsteps on the ground.
And went in griev'd to find she heard
Nought else but whisp'ring winds that stirr'd
The ashes' leaves in “home-ground.”
E'er father yet was come from town,
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With holden breath, to hear the sound
Of horses' footsteps on the ground.
And went in griev'd to find she heard
Nought else but whisp'ring winds that stirr'd
The ashes' leaves in “home-ground.”
There, north of us, a knoll swell'd high
Before the ever sunless sky,
And trees that bore the rook's high nest
Sprang tall before the stormy west
And keen-air'd east; and left the best
Of winds, the south ones, free to blow
O'er open meadows, in the glow
Of sunshine, up through “home-ground.”
Before the ever sunless sky,
And trees that bore the rook's high nest
Sprang tall before the stormy west
And keen-air'd east; and left the best
Of winds, the south ones, free to blow
O'er open meadows, in the glow
Of sunshine, up through “home-ground.”
And so I love the well-known names
We once heard there in youthful games;
Before our mother, hollow-eyed,
Had wept for father that had died;
Or we lost her, all scatter'd wide,
Each struggling in the world alone,
No more to share our mirth now flown
For ever from the “home-ground.”
We once heard there in youthful games;
Before our mother, hollow-eyed,
Had wept for father that had died;
Or we lost her, all scatter'd wide,
Each struggling in the world alone,
No more to share our mirth now flown
For ever from the “home-ground.”
| Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) | |