How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood
When fond recollection presents them to view
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild wood
And every loved spot which my infancy knew

The wide spreading pond and the mill which 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 that hung in the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron bound bucket
The moss covered bucket which hung in the well

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure
For often at noon, when returned from the field
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield

How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell
Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing
And dripping with coolness it rose from the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well

How sweet from the green mossy rim to receive it
As poised on the curb it reclined to my lips
Not a full flushing goblet could tempt me to leave it
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips

And now far removed from the loved situation
The tear of regret will intrusively swell
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well