By Sophie Russell
May 24, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 34. Page 4
Backward now my thoughts are turning,
And my wayward fancies go,
Where the shadows of old memories
Cross the paths of long ago.
Memory a chain is weaving
Of a cottage by a stream,
Where I dwelt, my heart believing,
Life was but a sunny dream.
Clustering vines around my cottage
Fill the air with sweet perfume;
And I sit beside my window,
Watching buds burst into bloom.
‘Tis a memory of childhood
Twining closely round my heart,
Bringing back the scenes departed,
Making tears unbidden start.
Life is not so bright and lovely,
As the hope our childhood sees;
Our life’s stern realities
Cannot reach such dreams as these.