Oh, there were entries long and dark, Clock-room and pantry too; And a hole was cut in the cellar-door, Where fav’rite cat went through. Grandma’ wore parted on her brow Her own soft, silvery hair; And scissors bright at her girdle hung, E’er knitting her fingers were. A buck-horn head had grandpa’s cane, His hat was wide of brim; His silver snuff-box was a gift From Washington to him. Up in the garret long and low, Was spinnet and spinning-wheel; For grandmamma, though lady bred, Could deftly spin a reel. Then at foot of the kitchen stairs There stood a “settle” low; And cheerily the large fire blazed With log and fore-stick too. With wheels and bucket in the porch, There was a deep old well; We thought, as in its depths we gazed, A fairy there might dwell. And there were haunts so old and dark We hardly dared to stay,―― Where bones and curious things were kept, And mouldering rubbish lay. We wandered in the orchard green, Where large red apples grew, And damsons purple, moose-plums sweet, Of varied size and hue. We shook the branches merrily, And strewed them on the ground; Such mellow and delicious fruit Could nowhere else be found. Down in the “Happy Valley” near A streamlet wandered by; We often crossed its bridge, to climb For wild choke-cherries high. We ran, too, in the long, straight mall, Bordered with poplar trees, Mingled with rose and currant bush, Lilacs and gooseberries. We sported in the garden aisles, And sat in the arbors old, Whose many-fancied tales of love Then laughingly we told. There grew the honied columbines, And fragrant fleur-de-lis; And grandma’s yellow marigolds, And full-blown peony. And there, with many a frolic wild, We fled the hornets’ rage; And grandma’ smiled, tho’ footsteps marred Her much-prized bed of sage. Her fav’rite pinks and southernwood With fragrance filled the air;―― The summer days were always warm, And every spot seemed fair. The violets were very blue, The grass was tall and green; Such colors in my womanhood I never since have seen! The cows from their rich pastures came Just at the sunset glow; And laughing maids came out to milk, And sat on cricket low. ’Tis the same sun in the sky, I ween,―― Ah, now it seems more cold; And my cousin’s happy tones I miss That fell in the arbors old. That cherished place is still most fair, There blooms the peony,―― He walks not o’er his broad lands now, Nor she her flowers to see.