The Old Farm House

At the foot of the hill, near the oíd red mili, In a quiet, shady spot, Just peeping through, half hid from view, Stands a little moss-giown cot ; And strayiug through at the open door, The sunbeams play 011 the sauded fioor. The easy chair, all patched wilh care, Is placed by the old heai thstone : Wilh witchnig graee, in the old fire-place, ïlie evergreens are strewn, And picture hang on ihe whitened wall, And ihe old clock ticks in the cottage hall. llore lovely stil], on the window stil, The dewed-eyed Üowers rest, Whilo 'mid.st the leaves, ou the moss-grown eaves, The martin huilds her nest, And allday long the sumtüsr breeze Is whispeiing love to the beuding trees. Over the door, all covered o'er With a sack of dark green baize, Lies a musket old, whose worlh is told In events of other days ; And the powder ilask and the hunter's horn, Have hung beside it for raany a mora. For years have fied with a noiseless tread, Like fairy dreani away, And left in their flight, all shorn of his might, A father- old aud gray ; Aud the soit wind plays with his snow-while hair, As the old man sleeps in his easy chair. In at the door on the sanded fioor, Light fairy footsteps glide, And a maiden fair, wilh flaxen hair, Kneels by the old man's side - An old oakwrecked by the angry storm. While the ivy clings to its trembling form.