Plain Sunny View, high up on Sowerby hill,
For several years our happy Summer-home:
Around thee now sweet memories gather still,
As I recall how dear thou didst become.
It is of thee we oft delight to speak,
Built close beside the winding country lane;
The moorland air we had no need to seek –
It ever bathed thee in its flowing train.
Thy doors and windows gathered in the sun,
As from the South its brightening rays were poured,
For breeze and light would vie, as if in fun,
That with them every room might well be stored
The seats and chairs about thy doors I see,
Where friends could sit to have a homely chat,
While on the grassy plot in front of thee,
The merry children often played or sat.
The scholars passed in all their morning glee,
And from the school returned with radiant smile;
They waved their hands and looked expectantly,
Or paused to talk with us a little while.
The poultry came again, and yet again,
To gather crumbs our table-cover shed;
The cattle too, would wander on the lane,
Ere, by their owner, they were homeward led.
The view around of pleasant hill and dale,
Would oft bewitch the gaze of those who passed:
Such pictures to attract will never fail,
Long as the tastes for natural beauties last.
'Twas homely, too, 'midst stormy winds and rains,
To sit beside the fire and hear the sound:
The howling noise, the splashing on the panes
While snug within home comforts did abound.
Or, when the sun had set behind the West,
And evening shadows gathered round our home,
Methinks we still had some things of the best,-
For then, to stay awhile, our friends would come.
The lamp upon the table clear and bright,
The tasty supper, such as pleased us all,
The chatty season, ere the quiet night
Brought restful sleep without regret of soul.
Our Missionary friends a visit paid,
When large the number who partook of tea:
A profitable season it was made,
And still remains a joy in memory.
Along the lane that afternoon we walked,
To see where Richard Thomas used to live:
We sang his tune, "Shaw Lane," of him we talked,
And, thus remembering him, we honour give.
Not far from thee a ruined cot remains,
Where, long ago, my granny used to live,
A ghost appeared – the room, it still retains,
Of which my granny would her story give:-
Awake she lay upon her bed at night –
When lo, a ghost-like form drew near the bed,
She knew his face – the moon then clear and bright
Nor felt afraid when it appeared and fled.
The morning dawned and brought a friend in grief:
Too sad to speak: and then my granny said
What! Has he died? For that was her belief-
"Yes, at the delph: a rock has struck his head."
It thus possesses for my heart a sense
Of weirdness, which still hovers round the place;
Nor do I wish such feelings banished thence
Or, from the mind, those feelings to erase.
There, too, old Jossey was a tenant rare,
And felt its piercing draughts of bitter cold,
Until he said "I will not summer here
Another winter" – left the cottage old.
'Tis nestled in a hollow of the land,
Near which is formed a tiny waterfall,
Then down the dell the streamlet's silvery band
Winds 'twixt the shrubs and rocks to reach its goal.
In flood the stream became a roaring tide,
Whose music reached our ears at Sunny View,
Which beckoned us to watch it splash and glide,
And hear its gladsome chorus ever new.
The teachers from our School once came to tea,
And held their meeting round thy parlour fire,
Now, as the sight of it returns to me,
Its memories both sadden and inspire.
Those times are past – no longer can we come,
Unlock thy door, and do what e'er we would:
Now, others come and stay, who call thee home,
And do with thee, to-day, as once we could.
Page Ref: LH_16
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