The Bedford gazette. [volume] (Bedford, Pa.) 1805-current, 1868-02-14

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A blackbird, | declare!
The bough is bending-hOw it swings!
How fast the birdling clings!
And now he smOOthS his feathers soft,
And shows his bright red wings.
/ trow upon that very tree
There is little nest
And that his little wife doth hide
The young birds meath her breast.
V.
Oh! ! remember very well,
When those same poplar trees
Were brought, than cOrn-stalks not
more large,
bore them off with ease.
On old Grandfa, hers homestead grew
The parent stems, and we,
When Mother brought the tWigs from
thence,
Planted them where you see,
Just as she told u-,-don't you think
Those self same trees they be!
VI.
But now the house is almost reached
How distance shrinks and Time,
When the free mind rOanS at its will
In Thoughts congenial cline!
There is the "ShOp," the corn-crib
there,
The cider-press there too;
And there the barn, and there the
spring,
How fresh its waters blue!
And see! the same old clapbnard fence,
And small gate opening through
VII.
Now, all is still ; they do not know
A stranger stands So near;
Old Watch-I guess he must be dead,
Else he had leapt out here.
For furiously he used to howl
Whene'er he heard the gate;
And pasSers-by in quaking fear
Ran from him as from Fate.
Vain fear! he bark'd but once or twice,
Then backward turn'd his gait.
VIII.
Yes, all is still the door is shut;
/ pause to think-but now
A slight noise from the kitchen comes
A rattling sound, though low.
| do not enter; cannot yet;
My heart is heavy, sick;
I'll sit while upon the porch
Where climbs the grapevine thick.
And seated on the dear old bench,
| Behind that shelt'ring vine,
| No one shall see the tear that flows
AdOwn this cheek of mine.
There are two places on that porch,
I'll sacred hold and dear,
Until my sun of life shall set
Beyond the Lethean mere.
When first left my fathers house,
My mother weeping stood
Just by that railing, and since then
To me tits holy wood.
X.
/ still behold her standing there,
Her kerchief in her hand;
Her cheeks a-fush, her eyes suffused,
Just as she then did stand.
There gave | her my fond adieu,
! And wept as it gave.
| 1t was the last; ere return'd
| They laid her in her grave.
XI.
And still | think | see her lean
Upon the railing there,
| And sob as from her presence now
/ seek myselftO tear.
She sits not in the rOcking-chair,
She moves no other where,
/ think not of her in her grave,
| I only see her there;
Before my soul she stands for aye,
Dear, loving mOther-heart,
And weeps as / my footsteps turn
From home and her to part.
XII.
But wherefore wander now my eyes
Just to the bench's end?
KnOwst thou? My heart is not yet
dead;
Thank God! Time cannot rend
From memory how my father there,
Sat many afternoons,
When from the trees the birds did pip
Their pleasant summer tunes;
| With hands crossed on his knees he sat,
His staff laid by his side;
In silence sat what was his thought,
In that still summer tide?
XIII.
| Perhaps it is a childish dream
That so enthralS his mind;
Perhaps he is boy again,
| To pretty schemes inclin'd.
Just now he lifts his aged eyes
And looks out DER the field;
Perhaps he sees the church-yard there,
Where, in her tomb ensealed,
The partner of his bosom sleeps
Or of that endless Rest
He thinks, that will him soon receive,
In yonder realm SO blest.
XIV.
Iknow not shall | enter now,
| tremble at the door;
Though many, many happy feet
Tread the old homestead floor,
1 rw~ - = III