Page:Poems Cook.djvu/240

THE OLD BARN.

The Barn, the Old Barn, oh! its dark walls were rife
With the records most fair in my tablet of life;
And a rare barn it was, for, search twenty miles round,
Such another brave building was not to be found.

'Twas large as an ark, 'twas as strong as a church,
'Twas the chicken's resort, 'twas the young raven's perch;
There the bat flapp'd his wing, and the owlet might screech,
Secure in the gable-ends, far out of reach.

For many a year had the harvest-home wain
Creak'd up to its door with the last load of grain;
And 'twas evident Time had been playing his pranks
With the moss-garnish'd roof, and the storm-beaten planks.

A wee thing, they tumbled me into its mow;
And left me to scramble out, Heaven knows how;
A wild, merry girl, the old barn was the spot
Which afforded delight that is still unforgot.

'Twas a birthday, one scion was walking life's stage,
In Youth's proudest of characters-just come of age;
Many joys were devised-but the chosen of all
Was to clear out the old barn, and "get up a ball."

We had pray'd, we had hoped that the lanes might be dry,
That no cloud would come over the moon-lighted sky;
But, alas! 'twas November, and fog, sleet, and gloom
Made the night of our jubilee dark as the tomb.

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