O Fair Blue hills: My heart with rapture thrills When e'er I gaze upon thee! May never woodman's axe Profane thy sacred trees. Born on thy land, the first the [1]Weary mariner sees! On one side the winding river. Quite near by are Milton's Mills, While the houses dotted in between A beauteous landscape fills. An old [2]schoolhouse, its ancient walls Where many a name is seen, Reminding how, in days gone by, Many pupils there had been: Here, too, stands a sweet-briar bush In summer with roses crowned, Its blossoms, pleasing to the eye, Shed a sweet perfume around. I see some verdant pastures And farms with products rank, A stone-arched bridge, a fountain, And meadows green and dank. But now the night is falling, I see thee as in a maze, A star in the azure sky Grows brighter as I gaze. I hear in the evening twilight Sweet chimes of a distant bell.[3] And I leave thee, O Hills! in thy grandeur, To others thy story to tell.
