Below the branch and near the river bank,
Hidden among the elms and butternuts,
The dear old cottage stands where I was born.
An English ivy clambers to the eaves;
An English willow planted by my hand
Now spreads its golden branches o'er the roof
Not far below the cottage thrives a town,
A busy town of mills and merchandise--
Belle Meadows, fairest village of the vale.
Behind it looms the hill-cone, and in front
The peaceful river winds its silent way.
Beyond the river spreads a level plain--
Once hid with somber firs--a tangled marsh--
Now beautiful with fields and cottages,
And sweet in spring-time with the blooming plum,
And white with apple-blossoms blown like snow.
Beyond the plain a lower chain of hills,
In summer gemmed with fields of golden grain
Set in the emerald of the beechen woods.
In other days the village school-house stood
Below our cottage on a grassy mound
That sloped away unto the river's marge;
And on the slope a cluster of tall pines
Crowning a copse of beech and evergreen.
There in my boyhood days I went to school;
A maiden mistress ruled the little realm;
She taught the rudiments to rompish rogues,
And walked a queen with magic wand of birch.
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