Classic Poem

'Twas a still midsummer day;
Slowly came the great clouds gray
O'er the mountain chain,
And the wisest could not say
Whether it would rain.

" Harry Percy, " aged four,
Stood before the farmhouse door,
Quite a handsome pony;
Sober, as if pondering o'er
A roadway, steep and stony.

Then appeared a picture fair,
A little girl with raven hair,
So sweet you ne'er could chide her;
And she stepped in the wagon there, —
A little boy beside her.

Off they drove with spirits gay,
In the dreamy summer day,
Round the valley-side;
Not so very far away,
Just a little ride.

Apples red the road o'erhung,
In the grass the locust sung
As they rode along;
All the hazy valley rung
With the Summer song.

So they wound among the hills,
Rumbled o'er the bridged rills,
By fields of oats and flax;
Through the woods, past ruined mills,
And brawling cataracts.

Patiently the pony stands,
While he heaps the maiden's hands
With berries black and sweet,
While laborers in the bottom-lands
Go, whistling, through the wheat.

Round them waved the tasseled corn, —
Other fields were ready shorn
Of their bearded grain;
Which in the barns was being borne
As back they rode again.

Only a little ride, and yet
The " little boy " will ne'er forget,
But rather think with pride,
Of her who trusted in his pet
And went with him to ride.

And as the shadowy seasons glide,
The " little girl, " by her fireside,
May oft recall with joy,
The little horse, the little ride,
And the little boy.