Lines in Pleasant Places Rhythmics of many moods and quantities. Wise and otherwise |
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THE OLD STAGE-COACH. |
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 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
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THE OLD STAGE-COACH.
The old stage-horn to the ear of the boy
Rang sharp and clear with a note of joy,
As onward rolled o'er the dusty road
The bulky stage with its human load,
And the echoing elves on hill and plain
Sent the stirring music back again,
Heralding the quick approach,
To the wayside inn, of the old stage-coach.
Rang sharp and clear with a note of joy,
As onward rolled o'er the dusty road
The bulky stage with its human load,
And the echoing elves on hill and plain
Sent the stirring music back again,
Heralding the quick approach,
To the wayside inn, of the old stage-coach.
I see it now in its stately pride,
As then before me I saw it glide;
Its prancing coursers, as if aware
Of the glory in which they held a share,
Dashed o'er the way with a tattoo beat
That rang out clear from their iron feet;
The old coach rocking like ship on the sea,
And the driver the envy and joy of me.
As then before me I saw it glide;
Its prancing coursers, as if aware
Of the glory in which they held a share,
Dashed o'er the way with a tattoo beat
That rang out clear from their iron feet;
The old coach rocking like ship on the sea,
And the driver the envy and joy of me.
Ah, great the pride by his side to sit,
To list to his budget of wisdom or wit;
And of all the places by boyhood sought
To that high station all else were nought.
A charm pervaded each word he spoke,
That shone in story or sparkled in joke,
And the brightest genius was murk and dim
To the glory of fun revealed in him.
To list to his budget of wisdom or wit;
And of all the places by boyhood sought
To that high station all else were nought.
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That shone in story or sparkled in joke,
And the brightest genius was murk and dim
To the glory of fun revealed in him.
And that was the seat for the grandest view,
As by scenes of beauty the coursers flew,
While the pleasant breezes of summer bore
The breath of wild flowers the meadow o'er,
And fanned the brow that the ardent sun
Sprent with a glow of commingled dun,
Giving a boon to the outside fare
That inside swelterers could not share.
As by scenes of beauty the coursers flew,
While the pleasant breezes of summer bore
The breath of wild flowers the meadow o'er,
And fanned the brow that the ardent sun
Sprent with a glow of commingled dun,
Giving a boon to the outside fare
That inside swelterers could not share.
By the meadow and over the bridge,
Sinking the valley and mounting the ridge,
Hearing the carol from far away
Of the farmers busy with their hay,
Catching the shapes of the distant hills,
Marking the course of the silver rills—
This was the pleasure the passenger knew
Whom the old stage-coach bore safely through.
Sinking the valley and mounting the ridge,
Hearing the carol from far away
Of the farmers busy with their hay,
Catching the shapes of the distant hills,
Marking the course of the silver rills—
This was the pleasure the passenger knew
Whom the old stage-coach bore safely through.
But the reign of the old stage-coach is o'er,
And the driver tells his tales no more;
The iron horse takes the courser's place,
With fiery snort and rapider pace;
The sound of the horn gives place to the bell
And the din of the whistle's warning knell,
With rush and roar of imprisoned steam,
And the old stage-coach subsides to a dream.
And the driver tells his tales no more;
The iron horse takes the courser's place,
With fiery snort and rapider pace;
The sound of the horn gives place to the bell
And the din of the whistle's warning knell,
With rush and roar of imprisoned steam,
And the old stage-coach subsides to a dream.
| Lines in Pleasant Places | |