Holyday
A
LITTLE
while,
a
little
while,
The
noisy
crowd
are
barred
away;
And
I
can
sing
and
I
can
smile
A
little
while
I've
holyday!
Where
wilt
thou
go,
my
harrased
heart?
Full
many
a
land
invites
thee
now;
And
places
near
and
far
apart
Have
rest
for
thee,
my
weary
brow.
There
is
a
spot
'mid
barren
hills
Where
winter
howls
and
driving
rain,
But
if
the
weary
tempest
chills
There
is
a
light
that
warms
again.
The
house
is
old,
the
trees
are
bare,
And
moonless
bends
the
misty
dome,
But
what
on
earth
is
half
so
dear,
So
longed
for
as
the
hearth
of
home?
The
mute
bird
sitting
on
the
stone,
The
dank
moss
dripping
from
the
wall,
The
garden
walk
with
weeds
o'ergrown,
I
love
them--how
I
love
them
all!
Yes,
as
I
mused,
the
naked
room,
The
flickering
firelight
died
away,
And
from
the
midst
of
cheerless
gloom
I
passed
to
bright,
unclouded
day--
A
little
and
a
lone
green
lane
That
opened
on
a
common
wide;
A
distant,
dreary,
dim
blue
chain
Of
mountains
circling
every
side;
A
heaven
so
clear,
an
earth
so
calm,
So
sweet,
so
soft,
so
hushed
an
air
And,
deepening
still
the
dream-like
charm,
Wild
moor-sheep
feeding
everywhere--
That
was
the
scene;
I
knew
it
well,
I
knew
the
path-ways
far
and
near
That,
winding
o'er
each
billowy
swell,
Marked
out
the
tracks
of
wandering
deer.
Could
I
have
lingered
but
an
hour
It
well
had
paid
a
week
of
toil,
But
truth
has
banished
fancy's
power;
I
hear
my
dungeon
bars
recoil--
Even
as
I
stood
with
raptured
eye,
Absorbed
in
bliss,
so
deep
and
dear,
My
hour
of
rest
had
fleeted
by
And
given
me
back
to
weary
care
