On Stony-Run

O cheerly, cheerly by the road, And merrily down the hillet, And where the bottom-lands are sowed With bristle-bearded millet;

Then o’er a pebbled path it goes Through woodland dale and dingle, Unto a farmstead’s windowed rose, And roof of moss and shingle.

Then darkly, darkly through the brush, And dimly round the boulder, Where cane and water-weeds grow lush, Its current clear flows colder.

Then by the cedared way that leads, Through burr and bramble-thickets, Unto a burial-ground of weeds Fenced in with broken pickets.

Then slowly, slowly down the vale, And wearily through the rushes, Where sunlight of the noon is pale, Its shadowy water hushes.

For oft her young face smiled upon Its deeps here, willow-shaded; And oft with bare feet in the sun Its shallows there she waded.

No more beneath the twinkling leaves Shall stand the farmer’s daughter!-- softly past the cottage eaves, O memory-haunted water!

No more shall bend her laughing face Above it where the rose is!-- Sigh softly past the burial-place Where all her youth reposes.