I CALL the old time back: I bring these lays We dreamed them over; while the rivulets made Songs of their own, and the great pine-trees laid On warın noon-lights the masses of their shade. And she was with us, living o'er again Beautiful in her holy peace as one Who stands, at evening, when the work is done, Glorified in the setting of the sun! Her memory makes our common landscape seem For she whose speech was always truth's pure gold HOME BALLADS. THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER. It was the pleasant harvest time, And the old swallow-haunted barns- And winds blow freshly in, to shake Are filled with summer's ripened stores, On Esek Harden's oaken floor, With many an autumn threshing worn, And thither came young men and maids, They took their places; some by chance, Or sweet smile guided to their choice. |