120
But now, when earth in breathing stillness lies,
Poured forth in richness to the silent skies,
And deepening still with music's magic power,
The spell of such a scene, and such an hour.
All, all is passing fair. Oh! would that thou,
My earliest friend! wert here beside me now;
To watch with me the moonlit earth and sky,—
Those scenes which most delight thy pensive eye;
To breathe the fragrant night-breeze, pure and clear,
And more than all—that thrilling voice to hear!
My lot is changed; new ties entwine me now—
The best, the holiest earth can ever know;
Yet still my heart as warmly clings to thee,
As in those bygone hours so dear to me:
And thou art fondly cherished, longed for still,
With love no time can change, no absence chill.
Thine image rises 'mid the dreams of home,
Of all I loved beyond the ocean foam,
Yet left with willing heart, and scarce a tear,
To share the lot of one than all more dear;
And still I love, at midnight's witching hour,
To weave for thee the wreath of song once more,—
To twine those flowers that yet, I trust, to thee
Not scentless bloom, though wild their fragrance be.
Oh! take them then, and if their hues may bring
One thought of home, one breath of gentle Spring,
To cheer thy spirit where its lot is cast—
The ungenial clime where duty holds thee fast,—
'Twill glad the heart that traced these numbers here,
The heart to which thou long hast been most dear!
Poured forth in richness to the silent skies,
And deepening still with music's magic power,
The spell of such a scene, and such an hour.
All, all is passing fair. Oh! would that thou,
My earliest friend! wert here beside me now;
To watch with me the moonlit earth and sky,—
Those scenes which most delight thy pensive eye;
To breathe the fragrant night-breeze, pure and clear,
And more than all—that thrilling voice to hear!
My lot is changed; new ties entwine me now—
The best, the holiest earth can ever know;
Yet still my heart as warmly clings to thee,
As in those bygone hours so dear to me:
And thou art fondly cherished, longed for still,
With love no time can change, no absence chill.
Thine image rises 'mid the dreams of home,
Of all I loved beyond the ocean foam,
Yet left with willing heart, and scarce a tear,
To share the lot of one than all more dear;
And still I love, at midnight's witching hour,
To weave for thee the wreath of song once more,—
To twine those flowers that yet, I trust, to thee
Not scentless bloom, though wild their fragrance be.
Oh! take them then, and if their hues may bring
One thought of home, one breath of gentle Spring,
To cheer thy spirit where its lot is cast—
The ungenial clime where duty holds thee fast,—
'Twill glad the heart that traced these numbers here,
The heart to which thou long hast been most dear!
E.
Godinton, June, 1838.
