Poems (Ford)/The Old Home
THE OLD HOME.
Far o'er the blue waves, in a sweet, sheltered valley,
Where desolate mountains, wild, gloomy and grand,
Wrapped in their blue mantles, mist-hooded and silent,
To ward off the tempest like sentinels stand,—
Where desolate mountains, wild, gloomy and grand,
Wrapped in their blue mantles, mist-hooded and silent,
To ward off the tempest like sentinels stand,—
Close nestled, like bird, in its thick, leafy covert,
The gray, time-stained walls of our homestead are seen;
The sycamores shade its thatched roof, and the ivy
Has draped its quaint gables in garlands of green.
The gray, time-stained walls of our homestead are seen;
The sycamores shade its thatched roof, and the ivy
Has draped its quaint gables in garlands of green.
The fisherman's sail on the bough's heaving bosom
Is seen through the dark, waving boughs of the trees,
While up from the meadows the breath of sweet blossoms
Is borne on the wandering wing of the breeze.
Is seen through the dark, waving boughs of the trees,
While up from the meadows the breath of sweet blossoms
Is borne on the wandering wing of the breeze.
Oh, there by the way-side the blackbirds and thrushes
Pour forth their glad anthems to welcome the spring;
The hawthorn's pale blossoms are gleaming like snow-wreaths,
Just drifted from heaven by an angel's white wing.
Pour forth their glad anthems to welcome the spring;
The hawthorn's pale blossoms are gleaming like snow-wreaths,
Just drifted from heaven by an angel's white wing.
There soft sighs the breeze 'mong the low, waving heather,
Whose purple bells brighten the brown of the moor;
The daisy lifts meekly her sweet, dewy eyelids,
And primrose-stars gleam round our low cottage door.
Whose purple bells brighten the brown of the moor;
The daisy lifts meekly her sweet, dewy eyelids,
And primrose-stars gleam round our low cottage door.
When winter lays bare the green hedges, the robin
Forsakes his bleak thorn for the ivy's dark leaves;
The crickets sing merrily round the wide chimney,
While swallows are twittering beneath the warm eaves.
Forsakes his bleak thorn for the ivy's dark leaves;
The crickets sing merrily round the wide chimney,
While swallows are twittering beneath the warm eaves.
By the turf's ruddy blaze, round the broad hearth, are gathered
Light hearts and glad faces, when evening has come;
While story and song, and the gay laugh of childhood,
Chime in with the sound of the wheel's busy hum.
Light hearts and glad faces, when evening has come;
While story and song, and the gay laugh of childhood,
Chime in with the sound of the wheel's busy hum.
Oh, rose-tinted hours of childhood, how quickly
Your glittering pinions for flight are unfurled;
How quickly do shadows creep into the sunshine
That Fancy's gold wand scatters over the world.
Your glittering pinions for flight are unfurled;
How quickly do shadows creep into the sunshine
That Fancy's gold wand scatters over the world.
Earth on her broad bosom has many an Eden
Of beauty, but few do I see, as I roam,
More fair than that glowing on Memory's canvas,
And none half so dear as my loved island-home.
Of beauty, but few do I see, as I roam,
More fair than that glowing on Memory's canvas,
And none half so dear as my loved island-home.