A RETROSPECTIVE DITTY.
To youth’s old joyous scenes
Still one’s thoughts are apt to wander;
Such oft the mind serenes,
As on former things he’d ponder:
Thus as I muse on home
In the town of ancient Straven;
In fancy would I roam
On the thymy banks of Aven!
Still one’s thoughts are apt to wander;
Such oft the mind serenes,
As on former things he’d ponder:
Thus as I muse on home
In the town of ancient Straven;
In fancy would I roam
On the thymy banks of Aven!
Oh, flow’ry be thy plains,
And thy sunny braes surrounding;
And happy be thy swains,
And thy lovely maids abounding
And limpid be thy streams
Where in youth I used to laye in;
Oft cheer’d by noonday dreams
Have I stroll’d the banks of Aven.
And thy sunny braes surrounding;
And happy be thy swains,
And thy lovely maids abounding
And limpid be thy streams
Where in youth I used to laye in;
Oft cheer’d by noonday dreams
Have I stroll’d the banks of Aven.
By Kype’s romantic linn,
Where the waters pour untiring,
Enraptured with its din,
Have I stray’d the scene admiring;
Or where Pomillion roars,
Round the Castle rock of Straven;
Or holmes which it explores,
While meand’ring to the Aven!
Where the waters pour untiring,
Enraptured with its din,
Have I stray’d the scene admiring;
Or where Pomillion roars,
Round the Castle rock of Straven;
Or holmes which it explores,
While meand’ring to the Aven!
There youthful friendships rose,
Like sweet flowers of summer springing;
When Fancy would disclose
Smiling Cupids round us winging!
Oh! these were hours of love,
When no cares could make us craven,
As arm in arm we’d rove
Through the silent walks of Straven.
Like sweet flowers of summer springing;
When Fancy would disclose
Smiling Cupids round us winging!
Oh! these were hours of love,
When no cares could make us craven,
As arm in arm we’d rove
Through the silent walks of Straven.
Then warm affections grew
In this bosom for fair Helen;
And close attachment true
Added strength to love indwellin’:
But o’er her early tomb,
Long the grass has now been wavin’,
As long I’ve mourn’d the doom
Of the fairest flower of Aven!
In this bosom for fair Helen;
And close attachment true
Added strength to love indwellin’:
But o’er her early tomb,
Long the grass has now been wavin’,
As long I’ve mourn’d the doom
Of the fairest flower of Aven!
But should I ne’er return
To those scenes, which once gave pleasure;
This bosom’s like an urn,
Where remembrance hoards its treasure:
Such treasure to forego,
On this heart so deeply graven,
I’ll never while ye flow
On your course sweet winding Aven
To those scenes, which once gave pleasure;
This bosom’s like an urn,
Where remembrance hoards its treasure:
Such treasure to forego,
On this heart so deeply graven,
I’ll never while ye flow
On your course sweet winding Aven
February, 1853
the end.
