Obrazy na stronie

Her speech was all music;

Like moonlight she shone ; The envy


many, The glory of one.

Years, years fleeted over

I stood at her foot :

The bud had grown blossom,

The blossom was fruit.

A dignified mother,

Her infant she bore ;
And looked, I thought, fairer

Than ever before.

I saw her once more

'Twas the day that she died : Heaven's light was around her,

And God at her side ;

No wants to distress her,

No fears to appalO then, I felt, then

She was fairest of all!


O! SPRING-TIME now will soon be here-
The sweetest time of all the

year ; When fields are green, and skies are blue, And the world grows beautiful anew.

The storms and clouds shall pass from high ;
And the sun walk lordly up the sky,
And look down love and joy again
On herb, and beast, and living men.

Then the laughing flowers on plant and tree
Shall bud and blossom pleasantly;
And spirits through the buxom air
Drop health and gladness every where :

The birds shall build their nests, and wake
Their roundelays in bush and brake ;
And the young west-wind on joyous feet
Go wooing along from sweet to sweet.

Then lives lithe Hope, live Love and Mirth ;
Then God in beauty walks the earth :
The heart is in tune, and the life-blood plays,
And the soul breaks out in


of praise.

O! spring-time now will soon be here,
The sweetest time of all the year;
When green leaves burst, and flow'rets spring,
And young hearts too are blossoming.

'Twas then I ventured first to twine

My Annie's trembling arm in mine ;
And trod-with her I cared not where-

Through vocal fields and scented air.

O days of sunshine, song, and flowers !
O young Love's early haunts and hours !
O tones and looks ! O smiles and tears !
How shine ye still through lapse of years !

There was one bank we loved to climb, All matted o'er with fragrant thyme, And screened from every vagrant breeze But the sweet south, up which the bees

Came musical ; and there we stood,
And gazed down on the ocean food,
That slept beneath us heaving mild,
Between his shores, like a cradled child ;

Or turned where on the orchard trees

Young Spring sat swinging in the breeze,
Unfolding buds, and tending flowers,
For Summer's future fruits and bowers.

« PoprzedniaDalej »