Show THE OLD MILL I 1 litre from the ibe brow of the hill I 1 look through a lattice of boughs and leaves on the old gray mill with its gambriel roof and the moss on its rotting eaves caves I 1 hear the clatter that jars jara its walls and the rusbin rushing waters sound bound and I 1 see the black floats rise and fall As the ched goes slowly round I 1 rode there often v m hen ben I 1 woi was young with my grist on the horse before and talk talked edwith wah nellie lel lic the millers girl etri As I 1 a acted alted my turn tit at the door all and while so tossed her ringlets brown and flirted and chatted so tree free tho the tt hf heel cl might stop step or the wheel might go it n as all the same kama to tome me ris Ms twenty year since last I 1 stood on the spot where I 1 fiand today to day and Is nellie ellie la Is bcd u ed and the Is dead and the will and I 1 are arc gray dut but both till N w e tall fall into ruin and wreck to our fortune of toil are bound and the man goes and the stream flows and the N leel heel moves slowly round doston boston beacon |