Classic Poem

Welcome, ye pleasant dales and hills,
Where, dreamlike, passed my early days!
Ye cliffs and glens and laughing rills
That sing unconscious hymns of praise!
Welcome, ye woods, with tranquil bowers
Embathed in autumn's mellow sheen,
Where careless childhood gathered flowers,
And slept on mossy carpets green!

The same bright sunlight gently plays
About the porch and orchard trees;
The garden sleeps in noontide haze,
Lulled by the murmuring of the bees;
The sloping meadows stretch away
To upland field and wooded hill;
The soft blue sky of peaceful day
Looks down upon the homestead still.

I hear the humming of the wheel —
Strange music of the days gone by;
I hear the clicking of the reel;
Once more I see the spindle fly.
How, then, I wondered at the thread
That narrowed from the snowy wool,
Much more to see the pieces wed,
And wind upon the whirling spool!

I see the garret once again,
With rafter, beam, and oaken floor;
I hear the pattering of the rain
As summer clouds go drifting o'er.
The little window towards the west
Still keeps its webs and buzzing flies,
And from this cosey childhood nest
Jack's bean-stalk reaches to the skies.

I see the circle gathered round
The open fireplace glowing bright,
While birchen sticks with crackling sound
Send forth a rich and ruddy light.
The window-sill is piled with sleet,
The well-sweep creaks before the blast,
But warm hearts make the contrast sweet,
Sheltered from storm, secure and fast.

O loved ones of the long ago,
Whose memories hang in golden frames,
Resting beneath the maple's glow,
Where few e'er read your chiselled names,
Come back, as in that Christmas night,
And fill the vacant chairs of mirth!
Ah me! the dream is all too bright,
And ashes lie upon the hearth.

Below the wood, beside the spring,
Two little children are at play,
And Hope, that bird of viewless wing,
Sings in their hearts the livelong day.
The acorns patter at their feet,
The squirrel chatters 'neath the trees,
And life and love are all complete —
They hold Aladdin's lamp and keys.

And, sister, now my children come
To find the water just as cool,
To play about our grandsire's home,
To see our pictures in the pool;
Their laughter fills the shady glen,
The fountain gurgles o'er with joy
That, after years full three times ten,
It finds its little girl and boy.
No other spring in all the world
Is half so clear and cool and bright,

No other leaves by autumn curled
Reflect for me such golden light.
Of childhood's faith this is the shrine;
I kneel beside it now as then,
And though the spring's no longer mine,
I kiss its cooling lips again.

Unchanged it greets the changeful years;
Its life is one unending dream;
No record here of grief or tears,
But, like the limpid meadow stream,
It seems to sympathize with youth,
Just as the river does with age,
And ever whispers — sweetest truth
Is written on life's title-page.