The rattling up before the inn,
The horses led away,
The post-boy as he touched his hat
And came to ask his pay.
The perch aloft upon the box,
Delightful for the view;
The turnpike gates whose keepers stood
Demanding each his due.
I remember, I remember,
When ships were beauteous things,
The floating castles of the deep
Borne upon snow-white wings;
Ere iron-clads and turret ships,
Ugly as evil dream,
Became the hideous progeny
Of iron and of steam.
You crossed the Itchen ferry
All in an open boat,
Now, on a panting hissing bridge
You scarcely seem afloat.
Southampton docks were sheets of mud,
Grim colliers at the quay.
No tramway, and no slender pier
To stretch into the sea.
I remember, I remember,
Long years ere Rowland Hill,
When letters covered quarto sheets
Writ with a grey goose quill;
Both hard to fold and hard to read,
Crossed to the scarlet seal;
Hardest of all to pay for ere
Their news they might reveal.
No stamp with royal head was there,
But eightpence was the sum
For every letter, all alike,
That did from London come!
I remember, I remember,
The mowing of the hay;
Scythes sweeping through the heavy grass
At breaking of the day.