Alabama, ip 13. 25 



Their many leaves they gladly wave, 



For greetings they extend, 



And each fair tree looks good to me, 



A brother and a friend — 

 This is the reason why I tramp, 

 For 'tis the lure of Bolencamp. 



The jangling bells upon the hills, 



Sound far o'er dale and glade; 

 'Tis just the same we used to hear, 



As o'er these grounds we played; 

 The cattle tread the hillside ways, 



As in the long ago, 

 Thoughts much the same, tho' on my head 



Are growing locks of snow — 

 When summer comes I often tramp, 

 It is the lure of Bolencamp. 



The log schoolhouse long since decayed — 



No vestige there is seen, 

 Except the half-sunk chimney pile, 



With growing things between ; 

 There oft I think of quondam mates, 



And hear their joyful shout; 

 I see them leap into the yard 



The moment school turns out — 

 And so I often take a tramp, 

 When comes the lure of Bolencamp. 



There bees cull sweets from every flower 



That strews the wayside fair, 

 And where the briers thickest grow 



Oft starts the timid hare; 

 From hill to hill the cawing crows 



Are passing to and fro — 

 'Twas just the same when life was young, 



In days of long ago — 

 And so I hope that many a tramp 

 May sate the lure of Bolencamp. 



— Frank Monroe Beverly. 



