COMRADES.

Down through the woods, along the way

That fords the stream; by rock and tree,

Where in the bramble-bell the bee

Swings; and through twilights green and gray

The red-bird flashes suddenly,

My thoughts went wandering to-day.

I found the fields where, row on row,

The blackberries hang black with fruit;

Where, nesting at the elder's root,

The partridge whistles soft and low;

The fields, that billow to the foot

Of those old hills we used to know.

There lay the pond, still willow-bound,

On whose bright surface, when the hot

Noon burnt above, we chased the knot

Of water-spiders; while around

Our heads, like bits of rainbow, shot

The dragonflies without a sound.

The pond, above which evening bent

To gaze upon her rosy face;

Wherein the twinkling night would place

A vague, inverted firmament,

In which the green frogs tuned their bass,

And firefly sparkles came and went.

The oldtime woods we often ranged,

When we were playmates, you and I;

The oldtime fields, with boyhood's sky

Still blue above them!— Naught was changed!

Nothing!— Alas, then tell me why

Should we be? whom long years estranged.