Classic Poem

At Stanburn feast, while slowly closed
The evening of a summer day,
And birds were hush'd, and reds that blush'd
Above the sunset sank away,
I sat below our hollow oak
To see the homeward wending folk.

There lay the gravelled roadway, deep
Between its sides of flow'ry banks,
Where, like a wall of boughs, the tall-
Stemm'd elms arose in lofty ranks,
Above the heads of men that trode,
In dusky air, their homeward road.

As some on horses, some on foot,
Came on, in clothing sad or gay,
Their white would mark on shadows dark
Their passing shapes along the way;
But forms in darksome raiment sank
Away in shade against the bank.

John Bond, with merry Willy Wood,
Rode on, atrot, his old white mare,
And white as snow, from top to toe,
Came Lucy Lee, with Harry Hare.
John Hunter by his laugh I knew
Before I heard him beat a shoe.

There came the old folk, fresh from friends
They seek at waketime once a year,
So dear to meet, so good to greet,
So well remember'd far and near;
And told each other, on their way,
How happily had pass'd their day.

And then came onward, brother-led,
The one that I could make my choice,
In black or blue, half lost to view,
But known to me by sound of voice;
Not clear to see, but dear to me;
Not clearly seen, but best to see.