Till, raptured, I see the dear features once more,

And thrill with the touch when her lips set the seal

Of her love, as she spun on the old spinning-wheel!

Then through the shadows and mists of many long years

The old cottage home to the vision appears;

And though youth it has fled, and the hair it is gray,

I'm a bare-footed boy returned to his play—

Forgetting the present to dream once again

That life had no anguish, no sorrow, no pain;

And sweetly the bells of the memory peal

When communing up there with the old spinning-wheel!

And back from the past, with its grief and its joy,

Come the tones of a voice I heard when a boy,

And I see once again, as it moved to and fro,

A form that now rests where the wild roses blow,

And the sentinel stars their love vigils keep

Above the dear one in her long, dreamless sleep;

But memories sweet to a heart that can feel

Still cluster around the old spinning-wheel.

[Pg 32]

 Prev. P 28/105 next