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| HOW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, | |
| When fond recollection presents them to view! | |
| The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, | |
| And every loved spot which my infancy knew; | |
| The wide-spreading pond and the mill which stood by it, | 5 |
| The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell; | |
| The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, | |
| And e’en the rude bucket which hung in the well,— | |
| The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, | |
| The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. | 10 |
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| That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure; | |
| For often, at noon, when returned from the field, | |
| I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, | |
| The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. | |
| How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing! | 15 |
| And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; | |
| Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, | |
| And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well;— | |
| The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, | |
| The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. | 20 |
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| How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, | |
| As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! | |
| Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, | |
| Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. | |
| And now, far removed from the loved situation, | 25 |
| The tear of regret will intrusively swell, | |
| As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation, | |
| And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well; | |
| The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, | |
| The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. | 30 |
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