Transcription
The Bucket
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection recalls them to view,
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every lov’d spot which my infancy knew.
The old oaken bucket the iron-bound bucket-
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
The wide-spreading pond and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy-house night it,
And every lov’d spot which my infancy knew.
The old oaken bucket the iron-bound bucket-
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
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.
The old-oaken bucket the iron-bound bucket-
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the while 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 a rose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the cord, it inclined to my lips,
Not a full-blushing goblet could tempt me to heave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
The old oaken bucket the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
And now far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy revisits my fathers plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.
Comments