MY LOST YOUTH.

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 the 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 sun-rise 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: