Thomas Durfee

The Village Picnic and Other Poems Thomas Durfee

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1872. Excerpt: ... THE VILLAGE PICNIC. Bright beams the morn of June. The festal train Of villagers wiuds through the shady lane, Along whose tumbling walls the lilacs snow Their purplish flowers and straggling roses blow, O'er meadows blithe with birds and redolent Of clover blooms with sparkling dew besprent, Beyond the emerald hills, a mile away, To Picnic in the leafy woods to-day. White-kirtled village girls in garlands bright, Rosy with health and radiant with delight, Who overflow with quip and song and dance, And roguish sheep's-eyes slyly cast askance, Or walk demure as hooded nuns, or rove With tell-tale blushes by the youths they love; And verdant village-lads in Sunday's best, Who still keep edging nearer, as if prest By a magnetic something that disarms Their baslifulness of half its vague alarms; Fathers with looks of pleased paternal pride, Mothers with frolic children by their side, Old bachelors, who year by year renew Their age, and still the prettiest lasses woo, Old maids in ancient holiday attire, The pastor, doctor, deacon and the squire,--Gaily, by groups and pairs, they ramble forth To spend a summer's day in genial mirth. And now they throng the fragrant bowery copse, Whose quiet shades and lawny velvet slopes Lie cinctured by low hills, that shut from sight The little village and its houses white,--A still retreat, with lulling melodies Of wind and stream and birds and droning bees. Here frowns the ancient oak in towering pride, '(To whose gnarled limbs to-day the swing is tied) With light-hued ash and hickory by its side; Here spreads the birch its swarm of shivering leaves; The maple here its scarlet tassels weaves; Here weeps the willow o'er the bubbling lymph And droops its head, like some forsaken nymph; And here a clump of glossy whispering ...