Lines in Pleasant Places :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sitting here at the twilight dim,
Making arrows for little Jim!—
The curling shavings fall around,
Noiselessly upon the ground,
While o'er my yielding spirit steals
A misty spell that all conceals
Of past or present, bearing me
Over a wide and troubled sea,
With shattered hopes, like wrecks, bestrown,
And half-accomplished trophies won,
To where a Jim of other name
Whittled arrows just the same.

O, sweet the quick, tumultuous thrill,
As boyhood's tide my veins refill!
I roam again the verdant fields,
I feel the transport freedom yields,
I smell the sweet balsamic pines,
In tranquil shades my form reclines,
I seek the hush of rural nooks,
I bathe in cool and crystal brooks,
I gather berries where they hide,
I sail upon the Summer tide,

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The ball before my arm bounds high,
My kite in daring scales the sky,
I feel the plenitude of joy
That waits upon “the human boy.”

What castellated hopes arise,
And gleam before my eager eyes!
How richly are the low clouds hung
With brilliant colors broadcast flung,
And how I long to breast the tide
Which keeps me from the other side—
So far, so wide, the buoyant soul
Scarce brooks the leash of Time's control!

But dreams!—The curling shavings fall;
The spell dissolves, and, vanished all
The mystic shadows that bespread
The bended form and silvery head,
Reveals me, in the twilight dim,
Making arrows for little Jim!
Yet still remains the better part,
The constant cheerfulness of heart,
The joyous fancy that shall keep
Till life is “rounded by a sleep.”