OLD CRIES.
"Three bunches a penny, primroses!"
The echo resounds in the mart;
And the simple "cry" often uncloses
The worldly bars grating man's heart.
The echo resounds in the mart;
And the simple "cry" often uncloses
The worldly bars grating man's heart.
We reflect, we contrive, and we reckon
How best we can gather up wealth;
We go where bright finger-posts beckon,
Till we wander from Nature and Health.
How best we can gather up wealth;
We go where bright finger-posts beckon,
Till we wander from Nature and Health.
But the "old cry" shall burst on our scheming,
The song of "Primroses" shall flow,
And "Three bunches a penny" set dreaming
Of all that we loved long ago.
The song of "Primroses" shall flow,
And "Three bunches a penny" set dreaming
Of all that we loved long ago.
It brings visions of meadow and mountain,
Of valley, and streamlet, and hill,
When Life's ocean but play'd in a fountain—
Ah, would that it sparkled so still!
Of valley, and streamlet, and hill,
When Life's ocean but play'd in a fountain—
Ah, would that it sparkled so still!
It conjures back shadowless hours,
When we threaded the wild, forest ways;
When our own hand went seeking the flowers,
And our own lips were shouting their praise.
When we threaded the wild, forest ways;
When our own hand went seeking the flowers,
And our own lips were shouting their praise.
The perfume and tint of the blossom
Are as fresh in vale, dingle, and glen;
But say, is the pulse of our bosom
As warm and as bounding as then?
Are as fresh in vale, dingle, and glen;
But say, is the pulse of our bosom
As warm and as bounding as then?
"Three bunches a penny, primroses!"
"Three bunches a penny,—come, buy!"
A blessing on all the spring posies,
And good-will to the poor ones who cry.
"Three bunches a penny,—come, buy!"
A blessing on all the spring posies,
And good-will to the poor ones who cry.
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