Wyoming democrat. [volume] (Tunkhannock, Wyoming Co., Pa.) 1867-1940, 1868-01-22
A Rural Sketch.
BY REV. r. HoYr.

A Rural Sketch.
BY REV. R. HoYr.
By the way-side, on a messy stone,
Sat a hoary pilgrim sadly musing
Oft 7 marked him sitting there alone,
All the landscape like page perusing
Poor unknown,
By the way-side, on a messy stone.
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad trimmed ha t,
Coat as ancient as the form twas folding,
Silver buttons, queue, and crimEled cravat,
OakeL staff, his fecbls Lni uphOlding,
There he sat
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad hat.
Scanned il pitiful he should sit there,
No one sympathizing. one needing,
None to love him for his thin grey hair
And the furrows all so mutely pleading,
Age, and care
Seemed it pitiful he should sit there.
II 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 fool -
II was summer and we went to school.
Still in sooth our tGs SKIS we seldom tried
Sportive pastime only worth our learning;
But we listened when the old man sighed
And that lesson TO our hearts went burning
And we cried
Still in sooth our tasks we seldom tried.
When the stranger seemed to mark our play,
(Some of US were joyous, some adhearted }
remember, well-too well--that day
Oftentimes the tears unbidden started
Would not stay!
When the stranger seemed to mark our play.
When we cautiously adventured nigh,
We could see his lip with anguish culver
Yet no word he uttered, but his eye
Seemed in taournful converse with the river
Murmuring by,
When we cautiously adventured nigh.
One sweet spirit broke the silent spell
All to me her name was always Heaven
She besought him all his grief to tell
Il was thirteen, and she eleven,D
Isabel
One sweet spirit broke the silent spell.
Softly asked she with voice divins,
Why so lonely hast thou wandered hither;
Hast no mother ?-come with me to mine
There's our cottage, let me lead the thither
Why repine,
Softly asked she with voice divine.
Angel, said he sally, I am old
Earthly hope no longer hath q morrow,
Yet why sit here thou shalt be told,
Then his eye betrayed pearl Of sorrow-
Down il rolled
Angel, said he sadly, am old
Ihave tottered here to look once more
On the pleasant scene where delighted
10 the careless happy days of Vore,
Ere the garden of my heart was blighted
To the core
have tottered here to look once more
All the pictnre now to me how dear
Fen this grey old rock where am seated,
Seems jewel worth my journey hero;
Ah, that such a scene must be completed
With tear
All the picture nov to me how dear
Old stone School house lit is still the same,
There's the very step so oft mounted
There's the window creaking in it's frame,
And the notches that / cut and counted
For the game
Old stone School house lit is still the same
In the cottage, yonder, was born
Long my happy home-that humble dwelling;
There the felds of clover wheat and corn,
There the stream with limpid nectar swe ling
All forlorn -
In the cottage, yonder, was born.
Those two gateway sycamores you see,
Then were planted, just 80 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 fight Of time,
Fearing nought but work and rainy weather
Past its prime
There's the orchard where we used TO climb
There. the rude three cornered chestnut rails,
Round the field where the hocks we're grazing
Where 80 sly used to watch for quails,
In the crops o. buckwheat we were raising
Traps and trails
There the rude three eornered chestnut rails
How in summer have I traced that stream,
There thro' mead and woodland sweetly gliding
Luring simple trout with many a scheme
From hooks where have found them hiding;
All dream;
How in summer have traced that stream.
There's the mill tn at ground our yellow grain
Pond and river still serenely flowing
Cot, there nesting in the shaded lane,
Where the lilly Of 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 stable
But alas the morn no more shall bring
That dear group around fathers table
Taken wing
There's the gate on which l used to swing
am fleeing all loved are fed
Yon green meadow was our place for playing;
That old tree can tell Of sweet things said,
When around it Jane and / were strayiDg
She is dead
am fleeing all loved are fed
Yon white spi,e--a pencil on the sky,
Tracing silently life's changeful 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.
Oft the aisle of that old church we trod,
Guided thither by an angel mother,
Now she sleeps benea tn its sacred sod
Sure and sisters and my little brother
Gone to God
Of the aisle of that old church We trod
There heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways,