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Often I think
of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets
of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory
still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the
thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see
the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden
gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And
islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish
dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It
murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the
wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long
thoughts."
I remember the black wharves and the
slips,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish
sailors with bearded lips,
And beauty and mystery of
the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice
of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of
youth are long, long thoughts."
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 thundered
o'er the tide!
And the dead 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 neighborhoods.
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.
And the voice of that
fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's
will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth
are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I
may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before
the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come
over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's
will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long
thoughts."
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is
pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each
well-known street,
As they balance up and down
Are
singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and
whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy
that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander
there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and
beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of
youth are long, long thoughts."
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