ere veering round
  I saw the snow-white church upon her hill
  Sit like a throned Lady, sending out
  A gracious look all over her domain. 
  You azure smoke betrays the lurking town;
  With eager footsteps I advance and reach
  The cottage threshold where my journey closed. 
  Glad welcome had I, with some tear, perhaps,
  From my old Dame, so kind and motherly,
  While she perused me with a parent’s pride. 
  The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew
  Upon thy grave, good creature!  While my heart
  Can beat never will I forget they name. 
  Heaven’s blessing be upon thee where thou liest
  After thy innocent and busy stir
  In narrow cares, thy little daily growth
  Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years,
  And more than eighty, of untroubled life,
  Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood
  Honored with little less than filial love. 
  What joy was mine to see thee once again,
  Thee and they dwelling, and a crowd of things
  About its narrow precincts all beloved,
  And many of them seeming yet my own! 
  Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts
  Have felt, and every man alive can guess? 
  The rooms, the court, the garden were not left
  Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat
  Round the stone table under the dark pine,
  Friendly to studious or to festive hours;
  Nor that unruly child of mountain birth,
  The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed
  Within our garden, found himself at once,
  As if by trick insidious and unkind,
  Stripped of his voice and left to dimple down
  (Without an effort and without a will)
  A channel paved by man’s officious care. 
  I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again,
  And in the press of twenty thousand thought,
  “Ha,” quoth I, “pretty prisoner, are you there!”
  Well might sarcastic Fancy then have whispered,
  “An emblem here behold of they own life;
  In its late course of even days with all
  Their smooth enthralment;” but the heart was full,
  Too full for that reproach.  My aged Dame
  Walked proudly at my side:  she guided me;
  I willing, nay—­nay, wishing to be led. 
  —­The face of every neighbor whom I met
  Was like a volume to me; some were hailed
  Upon the road, some busy at their work,
  Unceremonious greetings interchanged
  With half the length of a long field between. 
  Among my schoolfellows I scattered round
  Like recognitions, but with some constraint
  Attended, doubtless, with a little pride,
  But with more shame, for my habiliments,
  The transformation wrought by gay attire. 
  Not less delighted did I take my place
  At our domestic table:  and, dear Friend! 
  In this endeavor simply to relate
  A Poet’s history, may I leave untold
  The thankfulness with which I laid me down
  In my accustomed bed, more welcome now