Volume I Part 7 (1/2)

III.

I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.

IV.

With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow.

V.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever.

VI.

I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a l.u.s.ty trout, And here and there a grayling.

VII.

And here and there a foamy flake Upon me as I travel, With many a silvery water-break Above the golden gravel.

VIII.

I steal by lawns and gra.s.sy plots, I slide by hazel covers, I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers.

IX.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.

X.

I murmur, under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses, I linger by my s.h.i.+ngly bars, I loiter round my cresses.

XI.

And out again I curve and flow To join the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

OLD AUNT MARY'S.

Wasn't it pleasant, O, brother mine, In those old days of the lost suns.h.i.+ne Of youth--when the Sat.u.r.day's ch.o.r.es were through, And the ”Sunday's wood” in the kitchen, too, And we went visiting, ”me and you,”

Out to Old Aunt Mary's?

It all comes back so clear to-day!

Though I am as bald as you are gray-- Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane, We patter along in the dust again, As light as the tips of the drops of the rain, Out to Old Aunt Mary's!

We cross the pasture, and through the wood Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood, Where the hammering ”red-heads” hopped awry, And the buzzard ”raised” in the ”clearing” sky, And lolled and circled, as we went by Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

And then in the dust of the road again; And the teams we met, and the countrymen; And the long highway, with suns.h.i.+ne spread As thick as b.u.t.ter on country bread, Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

Why, I see her now in the open door, Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er

The clapboard roof!--And her face--ah, me!