 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
171
HUNTING SONG.
Would that one I love were here
Where the monarch-pine is waving,
And the Susquehanna near,
Broad, majestical and clear,
Wanders on, the valley laving!
Where tall peaks to kiss the cloud
Far above his tide are swelling,
Beauteous when a misty shroud
Hovers round their foreheads proud,
I would make my sylvan dwelling.
Where the monarch-pine is waving,
And the Susquehanna near,
Broad, majestical and clear,
Wanders on, the valley laving!
Where tall peaks to kiss the cloud
Far above his tide are swelling,
Beauteous when a misty shroud
Hovers round their foreheads proud,
I would make my sylvan dwelling.
Round my home the sun would throw
Tints of rosy light when dying:
Though the vale far, far below
Warms not with a sunset glow,
In a robe of shadow lying.
From the blasted pine, his throne,
I would mark with folded pinion,
Feathered sovereign, fierce and lone,
While the rocking boughs made moan,
Gazing on his wild dominion.
Tints of rosy light when dying:
Though the vale far, far below
Warms not with a sunset glow,
In a robe of shadow lying.
From the blasted pine, his throne,
I would mark with folded pinion,
Feathered sovereign, fierce and lone,
While the rocking boughs made moan,
Gazing on his wild dominion.
I would rove with hound and gun,
When the dawn of day was breaking,
And the dim stars, one by one,
Paled before their lord, the sun,
In a blaze of glory waking:
I would blow a bugle-blast
Loud romantic echoes rousing;
Then, with footstep fleet and fast,
Seek the greenwood deep and vast,
Where the antlered deer are browsing.
When the dawn of day was breaking,
And the dim stars, one by one,
Paled before their lord, the sun,
In a blaze of glory waking:
172
Loud romantic echoes rousing;
Then, with footstep fleet and fast,
Seek the greenwood deep and vast,
Where the antlered deer are browsing.
With the spoils of chase at night,
Gladly to my home returning,
I would haste, with footfall light,
Guided by a beacon bright
On my rugged hearth-stone burning.
There my bride, in accent clear,
While my frugal meal preparing,
With a song would lull mine ear,
And repay her mountaineer
For a life of toil and daring
Gladly to my home returning,
I would haste, with footfall light,
Guided by a beacon bright
On my rugged hearth-stone burning.
There my bride, in accent clear,
While my frugal meal preparing,
With a song would lull mine ear,
And repay her mountaineer
For a life of toil and daring
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |