Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/93



beautiful it stands, Behind its elm-tree’s screen, With simple attic cornice crown'd,   All graceful and serene; Most sweet, yet sad, it is   Upon yon scene to gaze, And list its inborn melody, The voice of other days;

For there, as many a year Its varied chart unroll'd, I hid me in those quiet shades, And call'd the joys of old; I call'd them, and they came When vernal buds appear'd, Or where the vine-clad summer bower Its temple-roof uprear'd,

Or where the o'erarching grove Spread forth its copses green, While eye-bright and asclepias rear'd   Their untrain'd stalks between, And the squirrel from the boughs His broken nuts let fall, And the merry, merry little birds Sang at his festival.