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SONGS FOR BOYHOOD. |
175 |
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At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring� Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling. |
Throbs in my memory still: " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, loug thoughts."
I remember the sea-fight far away, How it thundered o'er the tide". And the dead captains, as they lay In their graves o'erlookiug the tranquil bay, Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, Aud the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deeriug's Woods; And the friendships old, and the early loves, Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain ; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and never is still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I may not speak ;
There are dreams that can not die ; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song Come over me with a chill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, loug thoughts.''
Strange to me now are the forms I meet,
When I visit the dear old town ; But the native air is pure and sweet, And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." |
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MY LOST YOUTH.
Henry Wabsworth Longfellow.
Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea ; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still: " A boy's will is the wind's will, Aud the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams, The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, And islands that were the Hesperides Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song, It murmurs and whispers still: " A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the black wharves and the slips,
And the sea-tides tossing free, And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, Aud the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, Aud the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill; The sunrise gnn, with its hollow roar, The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill. And the music of that old song |
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