349. A Wish

Samuel Rogers (1763—1855)

  MINE be a cot beside the hill;

  A bee-hive’s hum shall soothe my ear;

  A willowy brook, that turns a mill,

  With many a fall shall linger near.

  The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,

  Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;

  Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,

  And share my meal, a welcome guest.

  Around my ivy’d porch shall spring

  Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;

  And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing

  In russet gown and apron blue.

  The village-church among the trees,

  Where first our marriage-vows were given,

  With merry peals shall swell the breeze,

  And point with taper spire to heaven.