54
THE MOUNTAIN MAID.
She welcomes the fervid summer,
And flies to the sounding shore
Where bleak Boar's Head looks seaward,
Set in the billows' roar,
And dreams of her sailors and fishers
Till cool days come once more.
And flies to the sounding shore
Where bleak Boar's Head looks seaward,
Set in the billows' roar,
And dreams of her sailors and fishers
Till cool days come once more.
Then how fair is the maiden,
Crowned with the scarlet leaves,
And wrapped in the tender, misty veil
The Indian summer weaves!—
While the aster blue, and the goldenrod,
And immortelles, clustering sweet,
From Canada down to the sea have spread
A carpet for her feet;
And the faint witch-hazel buds unfold,
Her latest smile to greet.
Crowned with the scarlet leaves,
And wrapped in the tender, misty veil
The Indian summer weaves!—
While the aster blue, and the goldenrod,
And immortelles, clustering sweet,
From Canada down to the sea have spread
A carpet for her feet;
And the faint witch-hazel buds unfold,
Her latest smile to greet.
She loves the song of the reaper;
The ring of the woodman's steel;
The whir of the glancing shuttle;
The rush of the tireless wheel.
But if war befalls, her sons she calls
From mill and forge and lea,
And bids them uphold her banner
Till the land from strife is free;
And she hews her oaks into mighty ships
That sweep the foe from the sea.
The ring of the woodman's steel;
The whir of the glancing shuttle;
The rush of the tireless wheel.
But if war befalls, her sons she calls
From mill and forge and lea,
And bids them uphold her banner
Till the land from strife is free;
And she hews her oaks into mighty ships
That sweep the foe from the sea.
