The glamour of the past still lies for me upon this landscape in spite of its many defacements.The river whispers of boyish boating parties, and the woods recall a thousand childish hopes and fears, resolute departures to join the pirates, or the red men in their strongholds - journeys boldly carried out until twilight cooled our courage and the supper-hour proved a stronger temptation than war and carnage.
When I sat down this summer evening to write a few lines about happy days on the banks of the Hudson, I hardly realized how sweet those memories were to me.The rewriting of the old names has evoked from their long sleep so many loved faces.Arms seem reaching out to me from the past.The house is very still tonight.
I seem to be nearer my loved dead than to the living.The bells of my lost "Is" are ringing clear in the silence.