And in the future I could see with an imagining eye
A cheering prospect, rising pure and bright.
It seemed my future path in smooth, unchequered ways did lie,
That cares were easy and life’s burdens light.
Amid the tranquils sweet around, and to my own design,
I built me castles of a towering height,
And thereto did my pleasures and my rising hopes resign,
Thought that these bulwarks would resist all might.
But, lo! they fell in ruined heaps, and mighty was the fall,
And my bright hopes lay ruined at my feet,
And the deluding dream of fancy passed away, and all
The scenes so fair did from me now retreat;
Like as the mirage travellers see upon the desert waste,
In view where cooling waters seem to rise,
And which the body longs to reach, the parchéd tongue to taste—
Alas! alas! such fancy is not wise.
COUNTRY RAMBLES.
Well do I love to ramble
Among the golden heath,
To roam, and rove, and scramble
On the soft turf beneath.
’Tis there that health is ever
Abounding to be found,
And beauty faileth never
In full charms to abound.
I pity oft and sorrow
For the poor city child,
That ne’er the chance can borrow
To ramble free and wild;
It looks so pale and feeble,
Its cheek is thin and white,
Its sicknesses are treble,
Its joys are never bright.
How different is the childling
That roams the open lea!
A rosy little wildling,
And gay, and blithe, and free.