HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,

And the fort upon the hill ; The sunrise gun with its hollow roar, The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, And the bugle wild and shrill. And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still:

• A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'

I remember the sea-fight far away, How it thunder'd o'er the tide ! And the dead sea-captains, as they lay In their graves o'erlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died.

And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill :

• A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'

I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's woods; And the friendships old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighbourhoods.

And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: 'A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart

Across the schoolboy's brain ; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part

Are longings wild and vain.

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