SONGS OF LA MOUCHE.
The Post.
Hark! a distant post-horn winding
Underneath the purple hills,
Sets my languid pulses racing
Like the tumbling mountain-rills.
Underneath the purple hills,
Sets my languid pulses racing
Like the tumbling mountain-rills.
See, the slow post-carriage crawling
Like a little yellow toy,
Cracking whip, and three white horses
Fill my silly heart with joy.
Like a little yellow toy,
Cracking whip, and three white horses
Fill my silly heart with joy.
Hark! I hear the post-bells jangle,
And the drum of clattering hoofs
Comes to me in windy snatches
Up above the pointed roofs.
And the drum of clattering hoofs
Comes to me in windy snatches
Up above the pointed roofs.
See, it halts before the post-house;
And the message that it brings,
Stirs within me depths of gladness,
And the flutter of Love's wings.
And the message that it brings,
Stirs within me depths of gladness,
And the flutter of Love's wings.
The Black Forest, 1855.
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