The Old Cottagers

The little cottage stood alone, the pride     Of solitude surrounded every side.     Bean fields in blossom almost reached the wall;     A garden with its hawthorn hedge was all     The space between.--Green light did pass     Through one small window, where a looking-glass     Placed in the parlour, richly there revealed     A spacious landscape and a blooming field.     The pasture cows that herded on the moor     Printed their footsteps to the very door,     Where little summer flowers with seasons blow     And scarcely gave the eldern leave to grow.     The cuckoo that one listens far away     Sung in the orchard trees for half the day;     And where the robin lives, the village guest,     In the old weedy hedge the leafy nest     Of the coy nightingale was yearly found,     Safe from all eyes as in the loneliest ground;     And little chats that in bean stalks will lie     A nest with cobwebs there will build, and fly     Upon the kidney bean that twines and towers     Up little poles in wreaths of scarlet flowers.     There a lone couple lived, secluded there     From all the world considers joy or care,     Lived to themselves, a long lone journey trod,     And through their Bible talked aloud to God;     While one small close and cow their wants maintained,     But little needing, and but little gained.     Their neighbour's name was peace, with her they went,     With tottering age, and dignified content,     Through a rich length of years and quiet days,     And filled the neighbouring village with their praise.