My father was a good and pious man, To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed, Can I forget what charms did once adorn My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme, The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime; The swans, that, when I sought the water-side, From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride. The staff I yet remember which upbore The bending body of my active sire ; His seat beneath the honeyed sycamore When the bees hummed, and chair by winter fire; With which, though bent on haste, myself I deck'd; When stranger passed, so often I have check'd; The red-breast known for years, which at my casement peck'd. The suns of twenty summers danced along,— And cottage after cottage owned its sway. He loved his old hereditary nook, And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook. But when he had refused the proffered gold, Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold: His little range of water was denied ;* All but the bed where his old body lay, All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side, We sought a home where we uninjured might abide. Can I forget that miserable hour, When from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed, Peering above the trees, the steeple tower I could not pray :-through tears that fell in showers, * Several of the Lakes in the north of England are let out to different Fishermen, in parcels marked out by imaginary lines drawn from rock to rock. There was a youth whom I had loved so long, 'Mid the green mountains many and many a song We two had sung, like gladsome birds in May. When we began to tire of childish play We seemed still more and more to prize each other; We talked of marriage and our marriage day; And I in truth did love him like a brother, For never could I hope to meet with such another. His father said, that to a distant town Four years each day with daily bread was blest, And often, viewing their sweet smiles, I sighed, "Twas a hard change, an evil time was come; Me and his children hungering in his view : In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain : To join those miserable men he flew ; And now to the sea-coast, with numbers more, we drew. |