Since childhood in my pleasant bower Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Campbell. LINES Written on visiting a Scene in Argyleshire. At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, I have mused in a sorrowful mood, On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower, Where the home of my forefathers stood. All ruined and wild is their roofless abode, And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree : And travelled by few is the grass-covered road, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode, To his hills that encircle the sea. Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, brace, For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place, Where the flower of my forefathers grew. Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright, In the days of delusion by fancy combined With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon my soul, like a dream of the night, And leave but a desert behind. Be hushed, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns When the faint and the feeble deplore; Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems, A thousand wild waves on the shore! THE RAINY DAY. The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Some days must be dark and dreary. Longfellow. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. Under a spreading chestnut-tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate’er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, THE RAINY DAY. The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Some days must be dark and dreary. Longfellow. |