HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighbourhoods.
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 schoolboy'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 is never still C 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 j
Theie arc di earns that cannot 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 like a chill:
- A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth arc long, long 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,
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