Page:Poems (1853).djvu/90

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Pale Memory and flushed Hope forget;
 Ambition sinks to sleep;
And o’er my spirit falls a bliss
 So perfect that I weep.

Oh, Stranger! though thy Farewell notes
 Now on the breeze may sigh,
Yet, treasured in our thrilling hearts,
 Their echo shall not die.

Thou’st brought us from thy Northern home
 Old Norway’s forest tones,
Wild melodies from ancient lands,
 Of palaces and thrones.

Take back the “Prairie’s Solitude,”
 The voice of that dry sea,
Whose billowy breast is dyed with flowers,
 Made audible by thee.

Take back with thee what ne’er before
 To Music’s voice was given,
The anthem that “Niagara” chaunts
 Unceasingly to Heaven;—

The spirit of a People waked
 By Freedom’s battle cry;