A BACKWARD GLANCE.
Oh! broad deep lowland meadow,
With your vivid stretch of green,
And your bogs, and ferns, and marshes,
And your cardinals between.
All the force, and all the passion,
Of my child-life buried lies,
In the sphere of Youth revolving,
Round the circle of the years.
With your vivid stretch of green,
And your bogs, and ferns, and marshes,
And your cardinals between.
All the force, and all the passion,
Of my child-life buried lies,
In the sphere of Youth revolving,
Round the circle of the years.
Phantasies of high ambition,
'Mid thy cowslip tufts were planned,
And my girlhood's sad rendition,
Of its guiding master-hand,
Spent its sorrow by the rootlets,
Of thy waving blades of green.
Such a play-ground as the meadow,
No other child-life oft hath seen.
'Mid thy cowslip tufts were planned,
And my girlhood's sad rendition,
Of its guiding master-hand,
Spent its sorrow by the rootlets,
Of thy waving blades of green.
Such a play-ground as the meadow,
No other child-life oft hath seen.
For nowhere in all the woodland,
When the blue-bird piped her note,
And the birchen buds were swelling,
And the maple's nectar flowed.
Grew such-tinted anemones,
As in thy growth of hazel glowed,
Not in any nurtured garden,
Grew such violets as bloomed,
Mottled, white, and purple hearted,
Round thy springy marshes edge.
When the blue-bird piped her note,
And the birchen buds were swelling,
And the maple's nectar flowed.
Grew such-tinted anemones,
As in thy growth of hazel glowed,
Not in any nurtured garden,
Grew such violets as bloomed,
Mottled, white, and purple hearted,
Round thy springy marshes edge.
There the grape vine's curling tendrils,
Crept o'er thy grassy corner's space,
And I knew where richest clusters,
'Neath its circled leaves found place.
Oh! dear old lowland meadow,
Thou wert my kingdom, I your queen,
Untold mines of childish treasures,
Hid within your wealth of green.
Crept o'er thy grassy corner's space,
And I knew where richest clusters,
'Neath its circled leaves found place.
Oh! dear old lowland meadow,
Thou wert my kingdom, I your queen,
Untold mines of childish treasures,
Hid within your wealth of green.
There the birdnest in the bushes,
Hid I from all prying eyes,
On the flat rock in the sunshine,
Oft I found the speckled prize,
Of the whippoorwill, whose music,
Plaintive sweet fell on my ear,
When the round moon cast her shadow,
On the cornfields waving ears.
Hid I from all prying eyes,
On the flat rock in the sunshine,
Oft I found the speckled prize,
Of the whippoorwill, whose music,
Plaintive sweet fell on my ear,
When the round moon cast her shadow,
On the cornfields waving ears.
When waist-deep I saw the mowers,
In thy blooming harvest stand,
And the gleaming scythe-blades levelled,
Plumy grass and spreading fern,
How I tossed the fragrant hay-swaths,
Drinking in their sweet perfume,
Or beneath thy spreading chestnut,
In the heart of fervid noons,
Pondered, all my child-heart yearning,
Ancient tales of love and wrong.
In thy blooming harvest stand,
And the gleaming scythe-blades levelled,
Plumy grass and spreading fern,
How I tossed the fragrant hay-swaths,
Drinking in their sweet perfume,
Or beneath thy spreading chestnut,
In the heart of fervid noons,
Pondered, all my child-heart yearning,
Ancient tales of love and wrong.
Ob! old time playground, time has brought,
Changes both to you and me,
For the curling locks that floated,
Wind-kissed, on thy fragrant breeze,
Now are streaked with silvery whiteness,
And this heart beats faint and low,
And thy greenness and thy beauty,
Bloom no more as long ago.
Grinding sound of wheel and hammer,
Ring where once the robins sang,
And thy marshes dark and grimy,
Bear the stamp of Progress' hand.
Changes both to you and me,
For the curling locks that floated,
Wind-kissed, on thy fragrant breeze,
Now are streaked with silvery whiteness,
And this heart beats faint and low,
And thy greenness and thy beauty,
Bloom no more as long ago.
Grinding sound of wheel and hammer,
Ring where once the robins sang,
And thy marshes dark and grimy,
Bear the stamp of Progress' hand.
