Poems (Welby)/The Cottage Band
Appearance
THE COTTAGE BAND.
I know a neat white cot, that peeps out brightly
From its repose amid green wavy trees,
That murmur to the breeze,
Round which young feet are heard to fall as lightly
As summer rain-drops on the sighing rose,
Lulling it to repose.
From its repose amid green wavy trees,
That murmur to the breeze,
Round which young feet are heard to fall as lightly
As summer rain-drops on the sighing rose,
Lulling it to repose.
There, when the joyous lark is upward springing,
With his sweet song to greet the early morn,
Unto the ear is borne
The silvery laugh of childhood, wildly ringing
Upon the stillness of the soft blue air,
For happy hearts are there.
With his sweet song to greet the early morn,
Unto the ear is borne
The silvery laugh of childhood, wildly ringing
Upon the stillness of the soft blue air,
For happy hearts are there.
Hearts that are filled from love's eternal fountain
Till each is like a deep o'erflowing well,
Or a wild flowret's bell,
Hid 'neath the brow of some o'erhanging mountain.
Giving its perfume to each wind it meets,
Yet losing not its sweets.
Till each is like a deep o'erflowing well,
Or a wild flowret's bell,
Hid 'neath the brow of some o'erhanging mountain.
Giving its perfume to each wind it meets,
Yet losing not its sweets.
And there at noon-tide, mid the trembling glances
Of the sweet starry jasmine gleaming out,
Is heard a young boy's shout,
Clear as the singing of a stream, that dances
Unto the breeze in all its boundless glee—
As clear, but O! more free.
Of the sweet starry jasmine gleaming out,
Is heard a young boy's shout,
Clear as the singing of a stream, that dances
Unto the breeze in all its boundless glee—
As clear, but O! more free.
And near his side a fairy creature lingers,
His little sister with her moss-rose cheek,
And eye so softly meek,
Parting the clustering vines with dimpled fingers,
And seizing from their long and wiry stems,
Their pale and quivering gems.
His little sister with her moss-rose cheek,
And eye so softly meek,
Parting the clustering vines with dimpled fingers,
And seizing from their long and wiry stems,
Their pale and quivering gems.
And there at eve, beneath the starlight gleamings.
Sits their young mother in soft pensive grace.
With sweetly smiling face,
Hushing her babe unto its heavenly dreamings,
And, with bent listening ear and graceful head,
Waiting her husband's tread.
Sits their young mother in soft pensive grace.
With sweetly smiling face,
Hushing her babe unto its heavenly dreamings,
And, with bent listening ear and graceful head,
Waiting her husband's tread.
And, when his step his heard among the flowers,
Sweet lips are wreathed in smiles, and ready feet
Fly forth his own to meet;
And the calm stillness of the twilight hours
Is broken by soft whispered words of love,
Stirring the air above.
Sweet lips are wreathed in smiles, and ready feet
Fly forth his own to meet;
And the calm stillness of the twilight hours
Is broken by soft whispered words of love,
Stirring the air above.
And this is all! yet oft my fancy painteth
That quiet lovely spot unto my view,
Where the warm sun looks through
The leafy boughs, and where the white rose fainteth
Upon the breeze, that oft its leaves hath fanned—
Blest be that cottage-band!
That quiet lovely spot unto my view,
Where the warm sun looks through
The leafy boughs, and where the white rose fainteth
Upon the breeze, that oft its leaves hath fanned—
Blest be that cottage-band!