 | Berries & Blossoms |  |
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THE LAND OF LONG AGO.
Do you ask me, little people,
Where I find my songs and ditties?
Oh, it's far from tower and steeple,
Far from fields and far from cities;
Where I find my songs and ditties?
Oh, it's far from tower and steeple,
Far from fields and far from cities;
Ay, so very far, that never,
Though your feet were like the wind,
Could you reach the place, for ever
Out of sight and out of mind.
Though your feet were like the wind,
Could you reach the place, for ever
Out of sight and out of mind.
Out of sight,—a darkness, streaming,
Walls it in on either hand;
Out of mind—your childish dreaming
Ne'er could picture such a land.
Walls it in on either hand;
Out of mind—your childish dreaming
Ne'er could picture such a land.
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Wait, my children, Time will show it,
Through the gloom of years 'twill grow
Clear to all your eyes—you'll know it
As the Land of Long Ago.
Through the gloom of years 'twill grow
Clear to all your eyes—you'll know it
As the Land of Long Ago.
Bright the sunshine round you streaming,
On green turf and golden sand;
But a lovelier light is gleaming
In that dear forsaken land.
On green turf and golden sand;
But a lovelier light is gleaming
In that dear forsaken land.
You believe no flowers are rarer
Than in glen and garden grow;
I could find a thousand fairer
In the fields of Long Ago.
Than in glen and garden grow;
I could find a thousand fairer
In the fields of Long Ago.
Oh! their scents, no breeze hath won them!—
Oh! the honey in each cup!
Oh! the diamond dew upon them!—
No hot sunbeams drink it up.
Oh! the honey in each cup!
Oh! the diamond dew upon them!—
No hot sunbeams drink it up.
And you praise your birds' free singing,
Lark and wren and linnet gay;
Ah! with richer strains are ringing
Those green gardens far away.
Lark and wren and linnet gay;
Ah! with richer strains are ringing
Those green gardens far away.
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If you could but hear the glorious
Warbling of their nightingale,
As he pours his chant victorious
In the moonlight, pure and pale,
Warbling of their nightingale,
As he pours his chant victorious
In the moonlight, pure and pale,
You'd confess your woodland singers
No such cunning skill can show,
As that lonely voice that lingers
In the groves of Long Ago.
No such cunning skill can show,
As that lonely voice that lingers
In the groves of Long Ago.
I'm an old man, little people,—
Wither'd cheek and wrinkled brow,
Hair as grey as yon church steeple,
These are my best graces now.
Wither'd cheek and wrinkled brow,
Hair as grey as yon church steeple,
These are my best graces now.
But the time was that I number'd
No more years than you this day,
And no heavy care encumber'd,
And no sorrow check'd my play.
No more years than you this day,
And no heavy care encumber'd,
And no sorrow check'd my play.
I had eyes as blue as Harry's;
Curly locks, too, I declare;
Cheeks as plump as little Mary's,
And the same half-saucy air.
Curly locks, too, I declare;
Cheeks as plump as little Mary's,
And the same half-saucy air.
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You may laugh, my little people,
But be sure my story's true,
For I vow, by yon church steeple,
I was once a child like you;
But be sure my story's true,
For I vow, by yon church steeple,
I was once a child like you;
Just as frisky in the wild wood,
Just as nimble in the race;
But I lost my happy childhood;—
Do you ask in what strange place,
Just as nimble in the race;
But I lost my happy childhood;—
Do you ask in what strange place,
In what darksome lanes and alleys,
It slipp'd from me? You shall know:
It was in the dewy valleys
Of the Land of Long Ago.
It slipp'd from me? You shall know:
It was in the dewy valleys
Of the Land of Long Ago.
So I go back often, often,
For I find my treasure there,
And its sweet face seems to soften
All my grief and all my care.
For I find my treasure there,
And its sweet face seems to soften
All my grief and all my care.
And we wander through the mazes
Of the woods and dells, at morn,
And we pluck the flowers, white daisies
And red poppies, in the corn.
Of the woods and dells, at morn,
And we pluck the flowers, white daisies
And red poppies, in the corn.
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And my feeble step grows firmer,
And my cheek's glow re-appears,
And “Thank God! thank God!” I murmur,
'Till my eyes break out in tears,
And my cheek's glow re-appears,
And “Thank God! thank God!” I murmur,
'Till my eyes break out in tears,
And the portal closes, closes,
And the darkness walls it round,
Leaving childhood with the roses,
Age, upon the flinty ground.
And the darkness walls it round,
Leaving childhood with the roses,
Age, upon the flinty ground.
Nay, my children, not in sadness,
Nor reproach, these words I say;
God is good, and gives new gladness,
When the old he takes away.
Nor reproach, these words I say;
God is good, and gives new gladness,
When the old he takes away.
But where all my songs and ditties
I go seeking—now you know—
Far from fields and far from cities,
In the Land of Long Ago.
I go seeking—now you know—
Far from fields and far from cities,
In the Land of Long Ago.
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