THE COTTAGE BAND.
I know a neat white cot, that peeps out brightly
From its repose amid green wavy trees,
That murmur to the breeze,
Round which young feet are heard to fall as lightly
As summer rain-drops on the sighing rose,
Lulling it to repose.
From its repose amid green wavy trees,
That murmur to the breeze,
Round which young feet are heard to fall as lightly
As summer rain-drops on the sighing rose,
Lulling it to repose.
There, when the joyous lark is upward springing,
With his sweet song to greet the early morn,
Unto the ear is borne
The silvery laugh of childhood, wildly ringing
Upon the stillness of the soft blue air,
For happy hearts are there.
With his sweet song to greet the early morn,
Unto the ear is borne
The silvery laugh of childhood, wildly ringing
Upon the stillness of the soft blue air,
For happy hearts are there.
Hearts that are filled from love's eternal fountain
Till each is like a deep o'erflowing well,
Or a wild flowret's bell,
Hid 'neath the brow of some o'erhanging mountain.
Giving its perfume to each wind it meets,
Yet losing not its sweets.
Till each is like a deep o'erflowing well,
Or a wild flowret's bell,
Hid 'neath the brow of some o'erhanging mountain.
Giving its perfume to each wind it meets,
Yet losing not its sweets.
