I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

I REMEMBER, I remember

The house where I was born;
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn ;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups-
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 't is little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

OUR old brown homestead reared its walls,
From the wayside dust aloof,

Where the apple boughs could almost cast
Their fruitage on its roof:

And the cherry-tree so near it grew,
That when awake I’ve lain,

In the lonesome nights I've heard the limbs,
As they creaked against the pane :

And those orchard trees, oh, those orchard trees!
I've seen my little brothers rocked
In their tops by the summer breeze.

The sweet-brier under the window sill,
Which the early birds made glad,
And the damask rose by the garden fence
Were all the flowers we had.

I've looked at many a flower since then,
Far brought, and rich, and rare,

To other eyes more beautiful

But not to me so fair ;

For those roses bright, oh, those roses bright!
I have twined them with my sister's locks,
That are laid in the dust from sight!

We had a well, a deep old well,

Where the spring was never dry,

And the cool drops down from the mossy stones

Were falling constantly:

And there never was water half so sweet

As that in my little cup,

Drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep,
Which my father's hand set up;

And that deep old well, oh, that deep old well!
I remember yet the plashing sound

Of the bucket as it fell.

Our homestead had an ample hearth,
Where at night we loved to meet ;
There my mother's voice was always kind,
And her smile was always sweet ;

And there I've sat on my father's knee,

And watched his thoughtful brow, With my childish hand in his raven hair

That hair is silver now!

But that broad hearth's light, oh, that broad hearth's light And my father's look, and my mother's smile,

They are in my heart to-night.

Phoebe Cary

THE AFTERNOON NAP.

THE farmer sat in his easy chair,

Smoking his pipe of clay,

While his hale old wife, with busy care,
Was clearing the dinner away :

A sweet little girl with fine blue eyes,
On her grandfather's knee was catching flies.

The old man laid his hand on her head,

With a tear on his wrinkled face;

He thought how often, her mother, dead

Had sat in the self-same place;

And the tear stole down from his half-shut eye;

"Don't smoke !" said the child, "how it makes you cry !"

The house-dog lay stretched out on the floor,

Where the shade after noon used to steal;

The busy old wife by the open door,

Was turning the spinning-wheel;

And the old brass clock on the mantel-tree,
Had plodded along to almost three ;

Still the farmer sat in his easy chair,
While close to his heaving breast,
The moistened brow and the cheek so fair
Of his sweet grandchild were pressed;
His head bent down on her soft hair, lay ;-
Fast asleep were they both, that summer day.

I LOVE to look on a scene like this,
Of wild and careless play,

And persuade myself that I am not old,
And my locks are not yet gray;
For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,
And makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice,
And the light of a pleasant eye.

I have walked the world for fourscore years,

And they say that I am old

That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death,
And my years are well-nigh told.

It is very true—it is very true

I am old, and I "bide my time,"

But my heart will leap at a scene like this
And I half renew my prime.

Play on! Play on! I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing.