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(From The Deserted Village)
SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain; | |
| Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, | |
| Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, | |
| And parting summer’s lingering blooms delayed: | |
| Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, | 5 |
| Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, | |
| How often have I loitered o’er thy green, | |
| Where humble happiness endeared each scene! | |
| How often have I paused on every charm,— | |
| The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, | 10 |
| The never-failing brook, the busy mill, | |
| The decent church that topt the neighboring hill, | |
| The hawthorn-bush, with seats beneath the shade, | |
| For talking age and whispering lovers made! | |
| How often have I blest the coming day, | 15 |
| When toil remitting lent its turn to play, | |
| And all the village train, from labor free, | |
| Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, | |
| While many a pastime circled in the shade, | |
| The young contending as the old surveyed; | 20 |
| And many a gambol frolicked o’er the ground, | |
| And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. | |
| And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, | |
| Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; | |
| The dancing pair that simply sought renown | 25 |
| By holding out to tire each other down; | |
| The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, | |
| While secret laughter tittered round the place. | |
| The bashful virgin’s sidelong looks of love, | |
| The matron’s glance that would those looks reprove: | 30 |
| These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, | |
| In sweet succession, taught e’en toil to please; | |
| These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, | |
| These were thy charms,—but all these charms are fled. | |
| Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, | 35 |
| Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant’s power. | |
| Here, as I take my solitary rounds | |
| Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, | |
| And, many a year elapsed, return to view | |
| Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, | 40 |
| Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, | |
| Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. | |
| In all my wanderings round this world of care, | |
| In all my griefs,—and God has given my share,— | |
| I still had hopes—my latest hours to crown— | 45 |
| Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; | |
| To husband out life’s taper at the close, | |
| And keep the flame from wasting by repose: | |
| I still had hopes—for pride attends us still— | |
| Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, | 50 |
| Around my fire an evening group to draw, | |
| And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; | |
| And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue | |
| Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, | |
| I still had hopes, my long vexations past, | 55 |
| Here to return,—and die at home at last. * * * * * | |
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