The Old Wooden Bucket
How dear to this heart are the scenes
of my childhood,
When fond recollections presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow,
the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond,
and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well!
The old wooden bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.