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Old Year Leaves

Being Old Verses Revised: By H. T. Mackenzie Bell ... New Edition

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MEADOW MUSINGS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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221

MEADOW MUSINGS.

While treading with purest of pleasure
The pathways grass-grown of the fields,
The thought that will come without measure
Is strange as the fruit that it yields.
We dream that on spot we are standing
To gaze on the glorious view—
Perchance some stern Druid commanding
Performèd his orisons due,
Ere vengeful and fierce as his foeman,
And eager for spoil and applause,
He ventured to meet the bold Roman
To fight in his dear country's cause.

222

Some Saxon, it may be, with sadness
Here mourned the mailed Norman's advance,
And on the morrow he ended his madness
At the point of the enemy's lance.
Perchance after great baron's wassail—
In days when such doings were rife,
With feudal foes here fought each vassal
In bitter inglorious strife.
Or the Roundhead recounted the glory
Of routing the gay Cavalier,
Nor wept, while reciting the story,
For former companions a tear.
And still as the swiftly winged Ages
Press on with impetuous pace,
The fools of the Earth and its sages
May pause for a while in this place.
Then darting away, will commingle
In the turmoil with which Life is fraught,
And never again will they single
This spot out for care or for thought.