A WISH.
Mine be a cot beside the hill,
A bee-hive’s hum shall soothe my ear,
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.
The swallow oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,
In russet gown and apron blue.
The village-church among the trees,
Where first our marriage vows were giv’n,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heav’n.
Samuel Rogers.