 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
283
HOPES WE HAVE NOURISH'D.
Hopes we have nourish'd,
If they be gone,
Joys that have flourish'd,
If they be flown;
Then welcome the winter that strikes at the root;
What matter the tree if it never bear fruit?
Let the storm make its moan—make its moan!
If they be gone,
Joys that have flourish'd,
If they be flown;
Then welcome the winter that strikes at the root;
What matter the tree if it never bear fruit?
Let the storm make its moan—make its moan!
How rich was the pleasure,
How blessing the joy,
More than Rapture could measure,
Or Fate could destroy!
How lovely the visions that rose on our way,
How like to the meteors that shine to betray,
The footstep and faith of the boy—of the boy!
How blessing the joy,
More than Rapture could measure,
Or Fate could destroy!
How lovely the visions that rose on our way,
How like to the meteors that shine to betray,
The footstep and faith of the boy—of the boy!
Raptures at meeting,
When heart grew to heart,
Bounding and beating,
As if life were to part!
Ah! hopeless our tears o'er the gleams that ye gave,
Like fairy bright eyes looking up through the wave,
That, even as we gaze, downward dart—downward dart!
When heart grew to heart,
Bounding and beating,
As if life were to part!
Ah! hopeless our tears o'er the gleams that ye gave,
Like fairy bright eyes looking up through the wave,
That, even as we gaze, downward dart—downward dart!
Thou that hast won us,
Too precious deceit,
Thou hast undone us,
With raptures too fleet!
Yet our hearts may not grieve o'er the ills thou hast done,
Too precious the memory of joys that are flown,
And these shall be sweet—shall be evermore sweet!
Too precious deceit,
Thou hast undone us,
With raptures too fleet!
Yet our hearts may not grieve o'er the ills thou hast done,
Too precious the memory of joys that are flown,
And these shall be sweet—shall be evermore sweet!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |