Classic Poem

Ah! Rosy, I know, was ever fond
Of Linchy-cliff Mill, her childhood's home,
Where still through the mill's broadshining pond
The mill-race rolls on with hissing foam;
And still up above the hatches float
The leaves of the summer's yellow clote;
And ever, as rolls the water-wheel,
The fast-whirling millstones shed their meal;
And oft the strong team pull on the wain,
Well laden with grain, beside the stream.

And Jenny's kind heart would ever cling
To Tway-knap farmhouse's mossy wall,
Where leazes were flow'ry through the spring,
And gold-yellow corn reel'd ripe in fall.
There oft she had seen, in harvest heat,
Arise the wide-bulging ricks of wheat,
And known every cow with wide horned head,
Or cappled, or starr'd, or sleeky red;
And seen the men fill with sacks of grain
The well-rolling wain, to go to mill.

And Jane of the farm at length became
The bride of the son that took the mills;
And Rose of the mills took up the name
That Jane had cast off at Tway-knap hills.
And each of the two for ever felt
Strong love for the home where erst she dwelt,
And each for the other kindly cared,
And asked how her old home's friends all fared
Whenever the wain came in at mill
Or up at the hill came home again.

But while at each happy home sweet life
Ran peacefully fair, at length each bride
Was smitten by sore disease then rife
In summertide's tainted air, and died;
And, though of earth's homes they had the best,
Were called to new homes by far more blest,
And nevermore asked, with kindly care,
How all at their early homes might fare
Whenever the wain came in at mill
Or up on the hill came home again.