THE OLD WATER MILL

‘ Twas grinding day at the Old Water Mill,

But holiday with me,

For I knew ere I reached the foot of the hill

And heard the voice of the happy rill,

The miller's beautiful child was there

That wore the tresses of sun-lit hair

And smile of witchery;

And the twittering swallows awhirl in the air,

Told in their ecstacy

That Rachel, the Golden Daffodil,

Was blooming again by the Old Water Mill.

Together we cross the moss-covered log

That spans the old mill race,

And we hear through the mists and rising fog

The boom of the dam, the croak of the frog,

That wakes, on the banks of the glinting stream,

The violet tranced in her winter dream,

Where lights and shadows lace;

And the cowslip, like the meteor's gleam,

Darts from her hiding-place,

While the cataracts leap in their haste to fill

The floats of the wheel at the Old Water Mill.

We sit by the dam of the placid stream

And watch the whirl and churn

Of the pouring floods that bubble and steam

And glitter and flash in the bright sunbeam,

While steadily rolls the dripping wheel

That slowly grinds the farmers’ meal,

Who restless wait their turn;

But the lights in the miller's face reveal

Never the least concern,

Who takes his toll, and whistles until

The hopper is drained at the Old Water Mill.

To-day we passed where the Old Water Mill

Had stood in the long ago,

But the cataracts leap no more on the hill,

And the boom of the roaring dam is still,

For the gleaming stream in its grief went dry,

When the ruthless hand of Art passed by

And laid the Old Mill low;

And the violets, cold in death, now lie

Wrapped in the glistening snow;

And the biting air is crisp and chill

Around the ruins of the Old Water Mill.

And now we sit by the River of Time

And gaze at the waves below,

But its brink is covered by frost and rime,

And we hear on the wind a muffled chime

Proclaiming the end of a brief sojourn:

Yet the floods of life still whirl and churn

As the currents ebb and flow:—

By the rolling wheel we wait our turn

Calm, but ready to go!

The hopper is drained, but unmoved still,

The Miller who grinds in Time's Water Mill.