62 BELLWORT. 



" Come hither child," — he stretched his hand 



And held a boy from play, — 

 " The old green woods throughout the land 



I fear will pass away ; 

 I remember now 'tis a bye-gone joy 



Since birds were singing here — 

 ' Twas a merry time and I a boy 



To list their spring-time cheer." 



He loosed his hold of the wondering child 



And fiercely closed the door, 

 For there was something new and wild 



That came his nature o'er, 

 A crowding of unwonted thought 



That would not be repressed, 

 An inward pang that aching sought 



A sympathising breast. 



The long lost years of sullen life 



Apart from human kind, 

 Long torpid powers awaked to strife 



Are struggling in his mind ; 

 The child still near the threshold stays 



And ponders o'er and o'er 

 With a perplexed and dull amaze, 



The words of him of yore. 



A stealthy foot beneath the sill — 

 A dry hand, pale and thin — 



And that old man all hushed and still, 

 Has drawn the boy within, 



" How long is't, child, since that cross-road 

 The green wood severed wide? 



