 | Landmarks and other poems |  |
35
WALKING TO THE STATION.
I wander down the woodland lane,
That to the turnpike greenly steals:
In breathless twilight-gold, again,
To wait the far-approaching wheels;
To hear the driver's horn once more
Wind all around the river wood,
Shy echoes start along the shore
And thrill the bosky solitude.
That to the turnpike greenly steals:
In breathless twilight-gold, again,
To wait the far-approaching wheels;
To hear the driver's horn once more
Wind all around the river wood,
Shy echoes start along the shore
And thrill the bosky solitude.
Here, coming back last night, I 've found,
Of folk familiar once, how few!—
Some, blacken'd names in graveyard ground,
Forgotten on the farms they knew.
In our quick West the ruthless plow
Spares not dear landmarks to displace;
The old Home, so long regretted, now
Stared at me with a stranger's face!
Of folk familiar once, how few!—
Some, blacken'd names in graveyard ground,
Forgotten on the farms they knew.
36
Spares not dear landmarks to displace;
The old Home, so long regretted, now
Stared at me with a stranger's face!
Hark! the vague hum of wheels is blown,
Fitful, across the evening calm—
No; 't is the far-off sound, well known
To boyish ears, of Mower's dam.
I started later than I ought,
It may be, and the stage is pass'd—
Fond fancy!—disenchanting thought,
That will not let the fancy last!
Fitful, across the evening calm—
No; 't is the far-off sound, well known
To boyish ears, of Mower's dam.
I started later than I ought,
It may be, and the stage is pass'd—
Fond fancy!—disenchanting thought,
That will not let the fancy last!
Ah, broken dream! The wheels no more
Ring faint beyond the Southern hill;
No longer down the valley roar,
Waking the twilight bridges still;
No more the lonely farm it cheers
To see the tavern's added light—
The stage is gone these seventeen years;
I walk to meet the train to-night.
Ring faint beyond the Southern hill;
No longer down the valley roar,
Waking the twilight bridges still;
37
To see the tavern's added light—
The stage is gone these seventeen years;
I walk to meet the train to-night.
Yet here 's the crossing (ne'er a trace
Of the old toll-gate toward the mill)—
The parting and the meeting place,
Dear, dear to homesick memory still!
Oh, schoolboy-time of joy and woe,
Of sad farewells, of blithe returns!—
I feel again the pang to go,
The homeward rapture in me burns!
Of the old toll-gate toward the mill)—
The parting and the meeting place,
Dear, dear to homesick memory still!
Oh, schoolboy-time of joy and woe,
Of sad farewells, of blithe returns!—
I feel again the pang to go,
The homeward rapture in me burns!
A sound grows busy with the breeze,
A nearing roar, a glancing light,
A tremor through yon darkling trees—
The fiery pant, the rushing might!
The head-light glares, the whistle screams;
I cross the field, the platform gain.
Give back, for old regrets and dreams,
To-morrow, love and dear ones, train!
A nearing roar, a glancing light,
A tremor through yon darkling trees—
The fiery pant, the rushing might!
38
I cross the field, the platform gain.
Give back, for old regrets and dreams,
To-morrow, love and dear ones, train!
| Landmarks and other poems | |