How
dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When
fond recollection presents them to view!
The
orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,
And
every loved spot which my infancy knew,
The
wide-spreading pond and the mill that stood by it,
The
bridge and the rock where the cataract fell;
The
cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
And
e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well.
That
moss-covered bucket I hailed as a treasure,
For
often at noon, when returned from the field,
I
found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The
purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How
ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And
quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell.
Then
soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And
dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
How
sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it,
As,
poised on the curb, it inclined to my lipsi!
Not
a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Tho'
filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And
now, far removed from the loved habitation,
The
tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As
fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And
sighs for the bucket that hung in the well.
SAMUEL
WOODWORTH
Together Forever
I may never see
tomorrow
Roses for a friend
A Smile is contagious
Beautiful
all Over
I Give to you
Lunch in the
park:-)
Home
The
World's Top Greetings
Top 100 sites
Top100 Women Sites
Top Java sites
