THE GREEN HILL-SIDE.
And 'mid the varied homes I've had—oh! tell me which has vied
With that of merry Childhood by the Green Hill-side?
With that of merry Childhood by the Green Hill-side?
I dwelt in that white cottage, when the Winter winds were loud
In singing funeral dirges over Nature's snowy shroud;
When my breath was turn'd to crystal stars upon the casement lead;
When the drift choked up the threshold, and the robin tumbled, dead;
I dwelt there when the rains came down, and mist was on the height;
When brown leaves, dark and desolate, brought on December's night;
But still I climb'd the open slope, and still I watch'd the tide,
And loved the gabled cottage by the Green Hill-side.
In singing funeral dirges over Nature's snowy shroud;
When my breath was turn'd to crystal stars upon the casement lead;
When the drift choked up the threshold, and the robin tumbled, dead;
I dwelt there when the rains came down, and mist was on the height;
When brown leaves, dark and desolate, brought on December's night;
But still I climb'd the open slope, and still I watch'd the tide,
And loved the gabled cottage by the Green Hill-side.
I have a hope—I have a prayer, now living in my breast;
They keep beside me everywhere, and haunt my hours of rest:
I have a star of future joy, that shines with worshipp'd ray;
That rises in my dreams at night, and in my thoughts by day.
My doting wish, my passion-shrine invokes no worldly prize
That Fortune's noisy wheel can give to charm Ambition's eyes:
The grand, emblazon'd gifts of place, let those who will divide,
I long for some white cottage by a Green Hill-side.
They keep beside me everywhere, and haunt my hours of rest:
I have a star of future joy, that shines with worshipp'd ray;
That rises in my dreams at night, and in my thoughts by day.
My doting wish, my passion-shrine invokes no worldly prize
That Fortune's noisy wheel can give to charm Ambition's eyes:
The grand, emblazon'd gifts of place, let those who will divide,
I long for some white cottage by a Green Hill-side.
It is no fever'd, summer whim that asks for fields and flowers,
With chance of growing weary when the roses leave the bowers;
It is no fancy, just begot by some romantic gleam
Of silver moonlight peeping down upon a pleasant stream.
Ah, no! I loved the tree and flower, with Childhood's early zeal,
And tree and flower yet hold the power to bid my spirit kneel;
I know what cities offer up to Pleasure, Pomp, and Pride;
But still I crave the cottage by a Green Hill-side.
With chance of growing weary when the roses leave the bowers;
It is no fancy, just begot by some romantic gleam
Of silver moonlight peeping down upon a pleasant stream.
Ah, no! I loved the tree and flower, with Childhood's early zeal,
And tree and flower yet hold the power to bid my spirit kneel;
I know what cities offer up to Pleasure, Pomp, and Pride;
But still I crave the cottage by a Green Hill-side.
Ob, Fortune! only bless me thus! 'tis all I ask below;
I do not need the gold that serves for luxury and show;
A quiet home, where birds will come, with freedom, fields, and trees;
My earliest hope, my latest prayer, have coveted but these.
It is a love that cannot change—it is the essence-part
Of all that prompts my toiling brain, or stirs my glowing heart;
And doting Age will say the same that dreaming Childhood cried—
"Oh, give me but a cottage by some Green Hill-side!"
I do not need the gold that serves for luxury and show;
A quiet home, where birds will come, with freedom, fields, and trees;
My earliest hope, my latest prayer, have coveted but these.
It is a love that cannot change—it is the essence-part
Of all that prompts my toiling brain, or stirs my glowing heart;
And doting Age will say the same that dreaming Childhood cried—
"Oh, give me but a cottage by some Green Hill-side!"
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