The mirror of our past;

And many a bright reflection, Belle,

Into its depth is cast;

Reflections that are calm and clear,

And O! to us so very dear.

I see a village—old Kirksville—

Its long and narrow street,

And as it climbs upon the hill,

How many friends I meet!

And, Belle, your face smiles out to me—

The sweetest face that I can see.

There is my home hid ’mong the trees

Back of the village street,

A welcome rushes on the breeze,

And restless grow my feet;

My heart leaps forward, and I view

The dearest spot I ever knew.

Home! home again! and, children, we

Skip through the pastures green;

Your eyes of blue I plainly see—

“The sweetest ever seen;”

And on your cheek the rosy tinge;

And curls of gold your temples fringe.

And see the dogs we used to pet;

Down through the lawn they run;

Not many passing by, forget

Their bark, or fail to shun

Old Carlo of the greyhound race,

And Lion with his vicious face.

Yet us they follow to the hedge,

Where hours with them we’ve played;

We climb upon my father’s barn,

Hide in the straw and hay;

We watch aunt “Silvy” spinning yarn

In the old-fashioned way.

She tells us tales by candle light,

That fill our hearts with wild delight.

A shadow falls; I lose your face;

Lost is the fairy-tale;

And just before my eyes I trace

A kind of airy veil;

A network that is strangely planned,

Held by the Present’s cunning hand.

The shadow now has passed away;

I glance the meshes through,

And find strange children there at play

Beside your knee; one, two—

The little faces both foretell

A happy future for you, Belle.

Long, long I gaze. That pretty view

Dissolves away in air,

And still I’m looking, Belle, for you,

And still I’m standing there;

I strive your image to retrace—

All, all has vanished but my face.

And closing ’round me as before,

I see a figured wall,

A carpet blue upon the floor,

And sunlight over all.

Bewildered, yet entranced I seem,

And ’waken from a sweet day-dream.