 | This, that and the other |  |
THE OLD HOMESTEAD.
Maples o'erhang the garden gate,
A beech-tree rises against the wall,
Where in the pleasant summer day
Sunbeams go hunting, and shadows fall;
Every cloud the sky that flecks
The brooklet mirrors, hurrying by,
Bearing songs of the mountain sprites
To nymphs that dwell in the forest nigh!
Frolicksome lambs and woolly sheep
Sport 'neath the shade-trees green and cool;
Patient cattle, with dreamy eyes,
Go to bathe in the sedgy pool;
There I can hear the wild-birds sing,
There in the solitude hums the bee,
And bodiless winds, with airy feet,
Their dances weave in the hollow tree.
There, in the midst, the homestead stands,
With its gable roof, and its chimneys tall,
Its clapboards and shingles weather-stained,
And its windows, narrow, and high, and small.
There, in the kitchen, low and wide,
Flitches of bacon hang to dry;
Peppers, and pumpkins, and apples strung,
Droop festooned from the hooks on high!
A beech-tree rises against the wall,
Where in the pleasant summer day
Sunbeams go hunting, and shadows fall;
Every cloud the sky that flecks
The brooklet mirrors, hurrying by,
Bearing songs of the mountain sprites
To nymphs that dwell in the forest nigh!
Frolicksome lambs and woolly sheep
Sport 'neath the shade-trees green and cool;
Patient cattle, with dreamy eyes,
Go to bathe in the sedgy pool;
There I can hear the wild-birds sing,
There in the solitude hums the bee,
And bodiless winds, with airy feet,
Their dances weave in the hollow tree.
There, in the midst, the homestead stands,
With its gable roof, and its chimneys tall,
Its clapboards and shingles weather-stained,
And its windows, narrow, and high, and small.
There, in the kitchen, low and wide,
Flitches of bacon hang to dry;
Peppers, and pumpkins, and apples strung,
Droop festooned from the hooks on high!
182
The spinning-wheel in the corner stands,
The dye-tub is turned against the wall,
And down on peppers and wheel and tub
Pleasant flecks of the sunshine fall.
The clock is ticking upon the stair,
And over the dresser deftly spread
Are many a pewter platter and plate,
And many a loaf of home-made bread!
There, in the sun, at the open door,
The dame o'er her knitting has gone to sleep;
The dog and cat are slumbering nigh,
And the very shadows softly creep!
And still, when the winter nights grow long,
There, in the chimney deep and wide,
The good wife plieth her spinning-wheel,
The good man sits by the old fire-side!
And aye, when the earth-cares darkly press
My spirit striving in Life's fierce noon,
I love to turn from the sultriness,
And go where winds, in their viewless shoon,
Sway the boughs at the garden-gate,
Breathe through the beech-tree's quivering leaves,
Where sunbeams go hunting and shadows fall,
Or the dew drops down on the dusty eaves!
The dye-tub is turned against the wall,
And down on peppers and wheel and tub
Pleasant flecks of the sunshine fall.
The clock is ticking upon the stair,
And over the dresser deftly spread
Are many a pewter platter and plate,
And many a loaf of home-made bread!
There, in the sun, at the open door,
The dame o'er her knitting has gone to sleep;
The dog and cat are slumbering nigh,
And the very shadows softly creep!
And still, when the winter nights grow long,
There, in the chimney deep and wide,
The good wife plieth her spinning-wheel,
The good man sits by the old fire-side!
And aye, when the earth-cares darkly press
My spirit striving in Life's fierce noon,
I love to turn from the sultriness,
And go where winds, in their viewless shoon,
Sway the boughs at the garden-gate,
Breathe through the beech-tree's quivering leaves,
Where sunbeams go hunting and shadows fall,
Or the dew drops down on the dusty eaves!
| This, that and the other | |