MY OLD PRECEPTOR.
Nay, smile not if I loved him! recollection,
That old familiar friend, attends us still,
Retaining in her grasp a rare collection
Of hoarded treasures, long-past scenes, that thrill
The bosom with sweet memories, fond affection,
That bends above the grave of good and ill.
That old familiar friend, attends us still,
Retaining in her grasp a rare collection
Of hoarded treasures, long-past scenes, that thrill
The bosom with sweet memories, fond affection,
That bends above the grave of good and ill.
Oft in the summer-time, when day-light slumbers
And stars look sweetly from their homes on high;
When heavy dew, like tears, the flower encumbers,
And the soft breeze on sleepy wing goes by,
I listen to the music of her numbers,
And phantoms, like familiar friends, draw nigh.
And stars look sweetly from their homes on high;
When heavy dew, like tears, the flower encumbers,
And the soft breeze on sleepy wing goes by,
I listen to the music of her numbers,
And phantoms, like familiar friends, draw nigh.
I've seen the dead take their accustomed places,
Beside me, on the never-fading green;
And distant ones draw near, with smiling faces,
Eager to hear of wonders that have been,
And passed away, or left unmeaning traces,
That mock at glory, and the toils of men.
Beside me, on the never-fading green;
And distant ones draw near, with smiling faces,
Eager to hear of wonders that have been,
And passed away, or left unmeaning traces,
That mock at glory, and the toils of men.
