103
THE ADIEU.
BY L. E. L.
We'll miss her at the morning hour,
When leaves and eyes unclose;
When sunshine calls the dewy flower
To waken from repose;
For, like the singing of a bird,
When first the sunbeams fall,
The gladness of her voice was heard
The earliest of us all.
We'll miss her at the evening time,
For then her voice and lute
Best loved to sing some sweet old rhyme,
When other sounds were mute.—
Twined round the ancient window-seat,
While she was singing there,
The jasmine from outside would meet,
And wreathe her fragrant hair.
We'll miss her when we gather round
Our blazing hearth at night,
When ancient memories abound,
Or hopes where all unite;
And pleasant talk of years to come—
Those years our fancies frame.
Ah! she has now another home,
And bears another name.
