Around about the fields and woods of old "Magnolia" spread—
Indigenous to "tansy"—"mint"—and the lithe-limbed thoroughbred;
And far above, on drowsy wing, the crow seems listening
To the rippling song of gladness from the
Old
"Bull
Spring!"
No music that I've ever heard seems half so soft and sweet
As that in silvery tones it makes while flowing at your feet;
And sometimes when I'm far away I'd give most anything
To hear the song of gladness from the
Old
"Bull
Spring!"
'Tis then that fancy wanders, and I sit and fondly dream
That I'm gazing in its liquid depths and see the pebbles gleam,
As when in happy childhood, and free from sorrow's sting,
I heard the song of gladness from the
Old
"Bull
Spring!"
And I sniff again the flavor of the aromatic breeze
From the mint-bed and the tansy, as it floated through the trees,
And hear music mingle of the birds upon the wing
With the laughing song of gladness from the
Old
"Bull
Spring!"
FAMILIAR HAUNTS.
I.
Give me the patches on my pants, the freckles on my face—
The happy heart where cankering care had never found a place—
And let my bare feet walk again that dirt road down the hill
That led me to the river's brink, beyond the old Mock Mill!
II.