Farewell to a Rural Residence

Farewell to a Rural Residence

How beautiful it stands

Behind its elm-tree screen,

With pure and Attic cornice crowned,

All graceful and serene.

Most sweet, yet sad, it is,

Upon you scene to gaze,

And list its inborn melody,

The voice of other days.

For there, as many a year

Its varied chart unroll'd,

I hid me in those quiet shades,

And called the joys of old.

I call'd them and they came

Where vernal buds appeared,

Or where the vine-clad summer bower

Its temple-roof upreared.

Or where the o'er-arching grove

Spreads forth its copses green,

While eye-bright and aselepias reared

Their unstrained stalks between -

And the squirrel from the bough

Its broken nuts let fall,

And the merry, merry little bird

Sung at its festival.

Yon old forsaken nests

Returning spring shall cheer,

And thence the unfledged robin send

His greeting wild and clear -

And from yon clustering vine

That wreathes the casement round,

The humming-bird's unresting wing

Send forth a whirring sound -

Or where alternate springs

The lilac's purple spire,

Fast by its snowy sister's side,

Or where, with wings of fire,

The kingly oriole glancing went

Amid the foliage rare,

Shall many a group of children tread -

But mine will not be there.

Fain would I know what forms

The mastery here shall keep;

What mother in my nursery fair

Rocks her young babes to sleep;

Yet blessings on the hallowed spot,

Though here no more I stray,

And blessings on the stranger babes

Who in those halls shall play.

Heaven bless you too, my plants,

And every parent bird

That here, among the nested boughs.

Above its young hath stirred -

I kiss your trunks, ye ancient trees,

That often o'er my head

The blossoms of your flowery spring

In fragrant showers have shed.

Thou too, of changeful mood,

I thank thee, sounding stream,

That blent thine echo with my thought,

Or woke my musing dream -

I kneel upon thy verdent turf,

For sure my thanks are due

To moss-cup and to clover-leaf,

That gave me draughts of dew.

To each perennial flower,

Old tenants of the spot,

The broad-leafed lily of the vale,

And the meek forget-me-not

To every daisy's dappled brow,

To every violent blue,

Thanks! - thanks! - may each returning year

Your changeless bloom renew.

Praise to our Father, God -

High praise in solemn lay,

Alike for what his hand hath given,

And what it takes away;

And to some other loving heart

May all this beauty be

The dear retreat, the Eden home

It long hath been to me!

Hartford, June 21, 1838.

Mrs. L.H. Sigourney (Lydia Huntley Sigourney)

1:40, p. 160

1838.11.24