The evening sun shone brightly on the green,
And seem’d to linger on the lonely scene.
And, if to others Mary’s early nest
Show’d poor and homely, to her loving breast
A charm lay hidden in the very stains
Which time and weather left; the old dim panes,
The grey rough moss, the house-leek, you might see
Were chronicled in childhood’s memory;
And in her dreams she wander’d far and wide
Among the hills, her sister at her side—