174
EARLY DAYS.
Do you remember, Mary,
All our happy childish days?
When our hearts were light and airy,
And with footsteps like a fays
We bounded o'er the meadow,
Or adown the wooded lane,
And plucked each summer blossom,
And mocked the wild bird's strain?
When in that old fashioned garden
We built our grotto fair,
With the shells that were so lovely,
We were loth to leave them there?—
