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A Dream of Childhood.

Come, father, dear, the morn is clear,
  The azure arch has not a shadow;
The lark, so free, lilts o'er the lea,
  And quails runmadly through the meadow.

Through furze and sedge, and hazel hedge,
 The linnets, finches, blackbirds, thrushes,
Chant thrilling strains, and sweet refrains
  Are wafted through the holly bushes.

The orchard trees embrace the breeze,
  Profusely hung with sweets, they shiver;
Laburnums weep o'er yonder steep;
  Their yellow ringlets kiss the river.

Say, shall we go where lilacs blow,
  And beech trees weave their boughs together?
Or through the grove, where sweethearts love
  To meet at eve in summer weather?

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Or up the stile, where wood-nymphs smile,
  And sport around when stars are gleaming;
And fairies cross the velvet moss
  At midnight, father, whilst we're dreaming?

The sycamore, that stretches o'er
  The greensward, when the lambkins gather,
Protects the glade with tranquil shade—
  Come, let us wander there, dear father.

Tall witch-elms guard the old churchyard,
  Where mother lies 'neath grassy cover,
With silver fringe and golden tinge—
  The pretty daisies bloom above her.

In twists and twines the ivy shines,
  And fondly clasps the ruined steeple;
I fancy oft, the daws aloft
  Are laughing downwards at the people.

You know the grot, and shepherd's cot,
  Across the park, where grow the cherries;
In clusters rich, along the ditch,
  Hang sloes, and haws, and brierberries.

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The rushy pond lies just beyond,—
  There lives the cunning tyrant, otter;
Around its brink pale lilies drink,
  And view their faces in the water.

But sorrow's trace is on thy face,
  Dear father! hast thou cause for sadness?
No gloom should now be on thy brow,
  When blooming Nature laughs with gladness.

Ah! thou art gone! and I'm alone,—
  There's magic in those dreaming hours.
From Mem'ry's root springs fancy's fruit,
  And childhood's purest, fairest flowers!