But t is spring all the year,
When my loved one is near,
And his smiles are like bright beaming blossoms to me,
Oh! to rove o er the hilltop, young chieftain, with thee.
LAND OF THE SOUTH
Land of the South! imperial land! How proud thy mountains rise! How sweet thy scenes on every hand! How fair thy covering skies! But not for this, oh, not for these, I love thy fields to roam, Thou hast a dearer spell to me, Thou art my native home! Thy rivers roll their liquid wealth, Unequaled to the sea, Thy hills and valleys bloom with health, And green with verdure be 1 But, not for thy proud ocean streams, Not for thine azure dome, Sweet, sunny South! I cling to thee, - Thou art my native home! I Ve stood beneath Italia s clime, Beloved of tale and song, On Helvyn s hills, proud and sublime, Where nature s wonders throng; By Tempe s classic sunlit streams, Where gods, of old, did roam, But ne er have found so fair a land As thou my native home!
