Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/75

So merrily, whose hearth-stone shone so bright
At eve, where with her skilful needle wrought
The industrious matron, while our younger group
Beguiled with fruit, and nuts, and storied page
The winter's stormy hour: where is she now?
Who coldly answers? dead!
                                              Fast by its side
A dearer mansion stands, where my young eyes
First open'd on the light. That garden's bound,
Where erst I roam'd delighted, deeming earth,
With all its wealth, had naught so beautiful
As its trim hedge of roses, and the ranks
Of daffodils, with snowdrops at their feet,
How small and changed it seems! The velvet turf,
With its cool arbour, where I linger'd long
Conning my little lesson, or, perchance,
Eying the slowly-ripening peach, that lean'd
Its downy cheek against the latticed wall,
Or holding converse with the violet-buds,
That were to me as sisters, giving back
Sweet thoughts: say, is it not less green than when
My childhood wander'd there?
                                                    Lo! by rude rocks
O'ercanopied, the dome where science taught
Her infant rudiments. First day of school!
I well remember thee, just on the verge
Of my fourth summer. Every face around
How wonderful and new! The months moved on
Majestically slow. Awe-struck, I mark'd
The solemn schooldame in her chair of state,
Much fearing lest her all-observant eye
Might note me wandering from my patchwork task