 | Forest leaves |  |
TO THE WHIPPOORWILL.
Bird of the evening, hast thou come
With thy familiar minstrelsy,
To chant in this, my wild wood home.
The song that pleas'd my infancy?
With thy familiar minstrelsy,
To chant in this, my wild wood home.
The song that pleas'd my infancy?
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Oh wildly sweet, thy thrilling note
Stirs all the depths of memory;
And forms of bliss and beauty float,
Commingled with thy melody.
Stirs all the depths of memory;
And forms of bliss and beauty float,
Commingled with thy melody.
Oh, I am in my native land
Once more, a little joyous child,
Amongst the bright and happy band
On whom a fair young mother smil'd.
Once more, a little joyous child,
Amongst the bright and happy band
On whom a fair young mother smil'd.
I see my blessed native place,
The nodding grove, the verdant vale,
The grain-clad hill, the orchard trees,
The shrubbery tossing to the gale.
The nodding grove, the verdant vale,
The grain-clad hill, the orchard trees,
The shrubbery tossing to the gale.
The city by the river-side
With heavenward spire, and shining dome;
The laden vessels, on the tide
From ocean journeys sweeping home.
With heavenward spire, and shining dome;
The laden vessels, on the tide
From ocean journeys sweeping home.
My father's house, that dearest place,
In all that dear and blessed land,
Where love, and piety, and peace,
Presided o'er the cherish'd band.
In all that dear and blessed land,
Where love, and piety, and peace,
Presided o'er the cherish'd band.
Each inmate of that dear abode
By memory's steady light I see,—
Though some are long ago with God,
And all are far away from me.
By memory's steady light I see,—
Though some are long ago with God,
And all are far away from me.
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Each dear familiar tree and flower,
By river-side, or rocky glen,
Is bright and beautiful this hour,
In fancy, as I deem'd it then.
By river-side, or rocky glen,
Is bright and beautiful this hour,
In fancy, as I deem'd it then.
And I can dream thy vesper sweet,
So musically wild and shrill,
Rings from the quince tree, then the seat
Of my familiar whippoorwill.
So musically wild and shrill,
Rings from the quince tree, then the seat
Of my familiar whippoorwill.
I see that smile, so fond so bright,—
And now, a voice is in mine ear.
“The whippoorwill has sung good night,”
“Now come to bed my children dear.”
And now, a voice is in mine ear.
“The whippoorwill has sung good night,”
“Now come to bed my children dear.”
The lamp is plac'd, the prayers are said,
A mother's hymn is wooing sleep.
No thorns were on that pillow spread,
I had not learned to watch and weep.
A mother's hymn is wooing sleep.
No thorns were on that pillow spread,
I had not learned to watch and weep.
The song is hush'd—the vision fled,
Reality resumes her reign.
Come, my own little ones to bed,
Your mother's heart is yours again.
Reality resumes her reign.
Come, my own little ones to bed,
Your mother's heart is yours again.
| Forest leaves | |