The Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1837-1867, 1848-05-27
Poetry.


ny REV. RALPH HoYT.
by the wnyside, on messy stone,
Sat hoary pilgrim, sadly mu sings
Oft marked him sitting there alone,
All the landscape, like page, perusingj
Poor unknown,
BY the wayside, on messy stone.
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad. trimmed hat
Cont as ancient as the form twas folding,
Silver buttons, qucu, and crimped cravat,
Oaken staff his feeble hand unfolding
There he sat-
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad trimmed hat
Seemed it pitiful he should sit there,
No one sympathizing, no one needing,
None to love him for his thin gray hair,
And the burrows all so mutely pleading
Age and care:
Seemed il pitful he should sit there
1t was Summer and we went to school,
Dapper country lads, and little maidens,
Taught the motto of the Ounces Stool;
Its grave import still my fancy ladens--
'HERE's A FOOL!
1T was Summer, and we went to school,
When the stranger seemed TO mark our play,
(Some of us were Joyous, some sad hearted,
] remember well, too well that dnyD
'0ftentimes the tears unbiddcn started
Would not stay,
When the stranger seemed to mark our play.
One sweet spirit broke the silent spell;
All! TO me her name was always hcavcn
She bcsought him all his grief to tell
q was then thirteen and she eleven)
ISABEL!
One sweet spirit broke the silent spell
angel said he, sadly, Il am old
Earthly hope no longer hath n morrow;
Yet, why sit here thou shalt be told
Then his eve BETRAYED n peurl of sorrow-
Down it rolled!
<Angcl, said he sadly, Il am old
a have tottered here to look on &C more
On the pleasant scene where delighted
an the careless, happy days of yore,
Ere the garden of my heart was blghted
To the core!
have tottered here to look once more!
%All the picture to me how dear!
Fen this gray old rock where | am seated
rs jewel worth my journey here:
All! that such scene must be completed
With n tear!
All the picture now to me how dear!
sold stone School Housed it is still the samc
There's the very step oft | mounted!
There's the window creaking in its frame,
And the notches that cut and counted
For the game;
Old stone School House. it is still the same.
aIn the cottage, yonder, was born;
Long my happy home, that humble dwelling;
1'herc the field of clover, wheat and corn;
There the Spring, with lmpid nectar swell
All, forlorn!
In the cottage yonder was born
sThose two gateway sycamores you see
Then were planted, just far nsunder,
That long well pole from the path to free,
And the wagon to pass safely under;
.Ninctythree!
Those two gateway sycamores you see!
~1'here's the orchard where we used to climb,
When my mates and were boys together,
Thinking nothing of the fight of time,
Fearing naught but work 81 rainy weather;
Past it's prime!
There the orchard where we used to climb!
There's the rude, three cornered chestnut rails,
Round the pasture where the locks were
grazing,
Where, so sly, used to watch for quails,
In the crops of buck wheat we were raising,
Traps and trails
There the rude, three cornered chestnut rails.
There the mill that ground our yellow grain;
Pond and river still serenely flowing;
Cot there nesting in the shady lane,
Where the lily my heart was blowing
MARY JANE!
There's the mill that ground our yellow grain!
There S the gate on which used to swing,
Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red sta
BILE;
But alas! no more TIE moon shall bring
That dear group around my father table;
Taken wing!
There's the gate which used to swing.
Il am fleeing! all / loved are fled;
Yon green meadow our place for playing;
That old tree can tell of sweet things said,
When around it Jane and were straying;
She is dead
I am fleeing! all loved are fled!
"Yon white spire-a pencil on the sky!
Tracing silently LIES chengeful story,
So familiar to my dim old eye,
Points me TO seven that are now in glory,
There on high!
Yon white spire, pencil on the sky
tOft the aisle of that old church we trod,
Guided thther by an angel mother;
Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod
Sire, and sisters, and my little brother,
Gone God!
Oft the aisle of that old church we trod
There hea I'd of Wisdom's pleasant ways;
Bless the holy lesson! but ah, never
Shall hear again those songs of praise,
Those sweet voices, silent now forever!
Peaceful days
There heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways.
@There my Mary blessed me with her hand,
When souls drank in the nuptial bless