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The moss…covered bucket that hangs in the well！
Samuel Woodworth ＇1785…1842＇
THE GRAPE…VINE SWING
Lithe and long as the serpent train；
Springing and clinging from tree to tree；
Now darting upward； now down again；
With a twist and a twirl that are strange to see；
Never took serpent a deadlier hold；
Never the cougar a wilder spring；
Strangling the oak with the boa's fold；
Spanning the beach with the condor's wing。
Yet no foe that we fear to seek； …
The boy leaps wild to thy rude embrace；
Thy bulging arms bear as soft a cheek
As ever on lover's breast found place；
On thy waving train is a playful hold
Thou shalt never to lighter grasp persuade；
While a maiden sits in thy drooping fold；
And swings and sings in the noonday shade！
O giant strange of our Southern woods！
I dream of thee still in the well…known spot；
Though our vessel strains o'er the ocean floods；
And the Northern forest beholds thee not；
I think of thee still with a sweet regret；
As the cordage yields to my playful grasp； …
Dost thou spring and cling in our woodlands yet？
Does the maiden still swing in thy giant clasp？
William Gilmore Simms ＇1806…1870＇
THE OLD SWIMMIN'…HOLE
Oh！ the old swimmin'…hole！ whare the crick so still and deep
Looked like a baby…river that was laying half asleep；
And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below
Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know
Before we could remember anything but the eyes
Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise；
But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle；
And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'…hole。
Oh！ the old swimmin'…hole！ In the happy days of yore；
When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore；
Oh！ it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide
That gazed back at me so gay and glorified；
It made me love myself as I leaped to caress
My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness。
But them days is past and gone； and old Time's tuck his toll
From the old man come back to the old swimmin'…hole。
Oh！ the old swimmin'…hole！ In the long； lazy days
When the hum…drum of school made so many run…a…ways；
How pleasant was the journey down the old dusty lane；
Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane
You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole
They was lots o' fun on hand at the old swimmin'…hole。
But the lost joys is past！ Let your tears in sorrow roll
Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'…hole。
Thare the bulrushes growed； and the cattails so tall；
And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all；
And it mottled the worter with amber and gold
Tel the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled；
And the snake…feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by
Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky；
Or a wownded apple…blossom in the breeze's controle
As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'…hole。
Oh！ the old swimmin'…hole！ When I last saw the place；
The scenes was all changed； like the change in my face；
The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot
Whare the old divin'…log lays sunk and fergot。
And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be …
But never again will theyr shade shelter me！
And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul；
And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'…hole。
James Whitcomb Riley ＇1849…1916＇
FORTY YEARS AGO
I've wandered to the village； Tom； I've sat beneath the tree；
Upon the schoolhouse playground； that sheltered you and me；
But none were there to greet me； Tom； and few were left to know；
Who played with us upon that green some forty years ago。
The grass is just as green； Tom； barefooted boys at play
Were sporting； just as we did then； with spirits just as gay。
But the 〃master〃 sleeps upon the hill； which； coated o'er with snow；
Afforded us a sliding…place some forty years ago。
The old schoolhouse is altered some； the benches are replaced
By new ones； very like the same our jackknives once defaced；
But the same old bricks are in the wall； the bell swings to and fro；
Its music's just the same； dear Tom； 'twas forty years ago。
The boys were playing some old game； beneath that same old tree；
I have forgot the name just now … you've played the same with me；
On that same spot； 'twas played with knives； by throwing so and so；
The loser had a task to do； there； forty years ago。
The river's running just as still； the willows on its side
Are larger than they were； Tom； the stream appears less wide；
But the grape…vine swing is ruined now； where once we played the beau；
And swung our sweethearts … pretty girls … just forty years ago。
The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill； close by the spreading beech；
Is very low … 'twas then so high that we could scarcely reach；
And； kneeling down to get a drink； dear Tom； I started so；
To see how sadly I am changed since forty years ago。
Near by that spring； upon an elm； you know I cut your name；
Your sweetheart's just beneath it； Tom； and you did mine the same；
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark； 'twas dying sure but slow；
Just as she died； whose name you cut； some forty years ago。
My lids have long been dry； Tom； but tears came to my eyes；
I thought of her I loved so well； those early broken ties；
I visited the old churchyard； and took some flowers to strow
Upon the graves of those we loved some forty years ago。
Some are in the churchyard laid； some sleep beneath the sea；
And none are left of our old class； excepting you and me；
But when our time shall come； Tom； and we are called to go；
I hope we'll meet with those we loved some forty years ago。
Unknown
＇Sometimes called 〃Twenty Years Ago。〃
Claimed for A。 J。 Gault （1818…1903） by his family＇
BEN BOLT
Don't you remember sweet Alice； Ben Bolt； …
Sweet Alice whose hair was so Brown；
Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile；
And trembled with fear at your frown？
In the old churchyard in the valley； Ben Bolt；
In a corner obscure and alone；
They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray；
And Alice lies under the stone。
Under the hickory tree； Ben Bolt；
Which stood at the foot of the hill；
Together we've lain in the noonday shade；
And listened to Appleton's mill。
The mill…wheel has fallen to pieces； Ben Bolt；
The rafters have tumbled in；
And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze
Has followed the olden din。
Do you mind of the cabin of logs； Ben Bolt。
At the edge of the pathless wood；
And the button…ball tree with its motley limbs；
Which nigh by the doorstep stood？
The cabin to ruin has gone； Ben Bolt；
The tree you would seek for in vain；
And where once the lords of the forest waved
Are grass and the golden grain。
And don't you remember the school； Ben Bolt；
With the master so cruel and grim；
And the shaded nook in the running brook
Where the children went to