Old Year Leaves Being Old Verses Revised: By H. T. Mackenzie Bell ... New Edition |
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A DREAM OF LONG AGO. |
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 | Old Year Leaves |  |
245
A DREAM OF LONG AGO.
A dream of youth comes o'er me—
A dream of long ago,
When life was light before me,
Nor knew the taint of woe.
A dream of long ago,
When life was light before me,
Nor knew the taint of woe.
'Tis of a sun-lit village
Built by the bright sea's strand,
With widespread fields in tillage
Stretching on every hand,—
Built by the bright sea's strand,
With widespread fields in tillage
Stretching on every hand,—
Save on one side where moorland
The landscape closes in,
Which, though men deemed it poor land,
Was dowered with blooming whin.
The landscape closes in,
Which, though men deemed it poor land,
Was dowered with blooming whin.
246
Here there were boundless pleasures
For me, a town-bred boy;
Here first I found the treasures
That country-folk enjoy.
For me, a town-bred boy;
Here first I found the treasures
That country-folk enjoy.
Great was my bliss bird-nesting,
When butterflies I sought,
Or when in quiet resting
On turf with fragrance fraught.
When butterflies I sought,
Or when in quiet resting
On turf with fragrance fraught.
Its charms indeed were legion,
With its odours of wild flowers;
It seemed a fairy region
To spend the halcyon hours.
With its odours of wild flowers;
It seemed a fairy region
To spend the halcyon hours.
Once with a strange emotion,
I found a blackbird's brood,
And watched the dam's devotion,
Yet dreaded to intrude.
I found a blackbird's brood,
And watched the dam's devotion,
Yet dreaded to intrude.
I loved this moorland dearly,
With its spots for rest and play—
And in my day-dreams clearly
Still see it day by day.
With its spots for rest and play—
And in my day-dreams clearly
Still see it day by day.
247
How pretty looked the river—
Which gave the spot its name—
As its wavelets used to quiver
Beneath the sunset's flame,
Which gave the spot its name—
As its wavelets used to quiver
Beneath the sunset's flame,
Which dyed them with a lightness
That soon must disappear,
Fit emblem of the brightness
Which human life has here.
That soon must disappear,
Fit emblem of the brightness
Which human life has here.
What sport to watch the fishers
As they left their homes at morn—
Surrounded with well-wishers,
Holding dread and fear in scorn!
As they left their homes at morn—
Surrounded with well-wishers,
Holding dread and fear in scorn!
And how gladsome were the greetings
When they returned at night,
And merry were the meetings,
For faces all were bright.
When they returned at night,
And merry were the meetings,
For faces all were bright.
Life here had much of gladness
Despite its dull day's round,—
And less of care and sadness
Than oft in cities found.
Despite its dull day's round,—
And less of care and sadness
Than oft in cities found.
248
How great was my diversion
(I was but eight years old)
When I went a short excursion,
A cart my chariot bold.
(I was but eight years old)
When I went a short excursion,
A cart my chariot bold.
As onward thus I travelled
Mid balmy summer air,
Life's skein for me was ravelled
With bliss in place of care.
Mid balmy summer air,
Life's skein for me was ravelled
With bliss in place of care.
I saw them cutting fuel
To feed their wintry fire,
And, ah, I thought it cruel
When bidden to retire.
To feed their wintry fire,
And, ah, I thought it cruel
When bidden to retire.
How pleasant the postman meeting,
With his merrily sounding horn,
And his grave yet gladsome greeting
Bestowed on me each morn.
With his merrily sounding horn,
And his grave yet gladsome greeting
Bestowed on me each morn.
While the village people ever,
Though rude and unrefined,
To me seemed good and clever
Because they all were kind.
Though rude and unrefined,
To me seemed good and clever
Because they all were kind.
249
Ah, vision calm and cheering!
Soul-soothing none the less,
Despite the callous sneering
Cold cynics may profess.
Soul-soothing none the less,
Despite the callous sneering
Cold cynics may profess.
Thy memories shall not perish
Whate'er betide of grief—
Yes, evermore I'll cherish
This dream to bring relief.
Whate'er betide of grief—
Yes, evermore I'll cherish
This dream to bring relief.
| Old Year Leaves | |