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the spring with limpid nectar swelling; Ah, forlorn! In the cottage yonder I was born. "Those two gateway sycamores you see Then were planted just so far asunder That long well-pole from the path to free, And the wagon to pass safely under; Ninety-three! Those two gateway sycamores you see. "There's the orchard where we used to climb When my mates and I were boys together, Thinking nothing of the flight of time, Fearing naught but work and rainy weather; Past its prime! There's the orchard where we used to climb. "There the rude, three-cornered chestnut-rails, Bound the pasture where the flocks were grazing Where, so sly, I used to watch for quails In the crops of buckwheat we were raising; Traps and trails! There the rude, three-cornered chestnut-rails. "There's the mill that ground our yellow grain; Pond and river still serenely flowing; Cot there nestling in the shaded lane, Where the lily of my heart was blowing,-- Mary Jane! There's the mill that ground our yellow grain. "There's the gate on which I used to swing, Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red stable; But alas! no more the morn shall bring That dear group around my father's table; Taken wing! There's the gate on which I used to swing. "I am fleeing,--all I loved have fled. Yon green meadow was our place for playing That old tree can tell of sweet things said When around it Jane and I were straying; She is dead! I am fleeing,--all I loved have fled. "Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, Tracing silently life's changeful story, So familiar to my dim eye, Points me to seven that are now in glory There on high! Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky. "Oft the aisle of that old church we trod, Guided hither by an angel mother; Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod; Sire and sisters, and my little brother, Gone to God! Oft the aisle of that old church we trod. "There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways; Bless the holy lesson!--but, ah, never Shall I hear again those songs of praise, Those sweet voices silent now forever! Peaceful days! There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways. "There my Mary blessed me with her hand When our souls drank in the nuptial blessings, Ere she hastened to the spirit-land, Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing; Broken band! There my Mary blessed me with her hand. "I have come to see that grave once more, A
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