Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/37

Light-hearted group! I see ye still,
For Memory's pencil, at her will,
    Doth tint ye bright, and rare,
Red lips, from whence glad laughter rang,
Elastic limbs that tireless sprang,
    And curls of sunny hair.

I will not ask, if change or care
Have coldly marred those features fair,
    For by myself, I know,
We cannot till life's evening keep
The flowers that on its dewy steep,
    At earliest dawn did blow.

Yet lingering round this hallowed spot,
I call them, though they answer not,
    For some have gone their way,
To sleep that sleep which none may break,
Until the resurrection wake
    The prisoners from their clay.

But thou, most fair and fitful stream,
First prompter of my musing dream,
    Still lovingly dost smile,
And heedless of the conflict hoarse
With the rude rocks that bar thy course,
    My lonely walk beguile.