BY THE SHENANDOAH.
My home is drear and still to-night,
Where Shenandoah, murmuring, flows;
The Blue Ridge towers in the pale moonlight,
And balmily the south wind blows;
But my fire burns dim, while athwart the wall,
Black as the pines, the shadows fall;
And the only friend within my door
Is the sleeping hound on the moonlit floor.
Where Shenandoah, murmuring, flows;
The Blue Ridge towers in the pale moonlight,
And balmily the south wind blows;
But my fire burns dim, while athwart the wall,
Black as the pines, the shadows fall;
And the only friend within my door
Is the sleeping hound on the moonlit floor.
Roll back, O weary years! and bring
Again the gay and cloudless morn
When every bird was on the wing,
And my blithe, summer boys were born!
My Courtney fair, my Philip bold,
With his laughing eyes and his locks of gold,—
No nested bird in the valley wide
Sang as my heart, that eventide.
Again the gay and cloudless morn
When every bird was on the wing,
And my blithe, summer boys were born!
My Courtney fair, my Philip bold,
With his laughing eyes and his locks of gold,—
No nested bird in the valley wide
Sang as my heart, that eventide.
Our laurels blush when May-winds call;
Our pines shoot high through mellow showers;
So rosy-flushed, so slender-tall,
My boys grew up from childhood's"hours.
Glad in the breeze, the sun, the rain,
They climbed the heights or they roamed the plain;
Our pines shoot high through mellow showers;
So rosy-flushed, so slender-tall,
My boys grew up from childhood's"hours.
Glad in the breeze, the sun, the rain,
They climbed the heights or they roamed the plain;
