Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Each season possesses a pleasure for me,
I mark not time's progress when gazing on thee;
But if I must single out one from the rest,
I think that for lovers the Summer is best.
Spring mornings are pretty when zephyrs fly forth,
To scatter sweet blossoms all over the earth;
But Spring smiles too often with snow on her breast,
So I think that for lovers the Summer is best.

The Autumn is gay with the gold of her sheaves,
The blush of her fruit, and the tint of her leaves;
But her sun hastens daily more soon to the west,
So I think that for lovers the Summer is best,
The Winter is merry in festival hall,
But false are the garlands that hang on his walls;
And 'tis not in crowds that the heart is most blest,
So I think that for lovers the Summer is best.

II. THE OLDEN TIME.

In the olden time,
Young lovers roved in these gay bowers:
And these echoes oft
Have murmured vows as fond as ours.
Yes, the old who gaze on us
Once sported thus.
Eyes were bright,
Hearts were light,
In the summer days when they were young.

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Where are all the brave
Who won the laurels of those days?
Where are all the fair,
And poets, too, who sang their praise?
Oh! the harp—the smile—the plume—
Lie in the tomb.
Some remain
Who, in vain,
Mourn the Summer days when they were young.

III. SEE THE SUMMER LEAVES ARE COMING.

See the Summer leaves are coming
On the plants and on the trees,
And the birds that have been roaming
Under brighter skies than these.
Breezes breathe so soft, they only
Curl the surface of the sea;
But my heart feels sad and lonely,
Without thee, love! without thee.

Come, and I will weave you bowers,
Cool and shady all day long.
Ev'ry path is full of flowers,
Every grove is full of song.
Sunny, when we roved together,
E'en the winter seemed to me;
And how sad is summer weather,
Without thee, love! without thee.

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IV. THE OLD OAK TREE.

The old oak tree our shade shall be,
And there you shall sing gay songs to me;
Each sparkling glass that we fill to-night,
Reflecting a smile, shall beam more bright;
And we'll drink to those that we fain would see
Under the shade of the old oak tree.

Come Fashion and see our canopy!
The gay green leaves of the old oak tree.
The setting sun, and the rising moon,
Together shall light our sweet saloon.
We've the song of the bird and the hum of the bee,
Under the shade of the old oak tree.

Oh, let there not be a fire for me
Kindled against the old oak tree!
Too many, alas! will wound the stem
Of the tree that in kindness sheltered them.
No brand shall be lighted for you or for me
Under the shade of the old oak tree.

V. COME TO ME, LOVE, AND TELL ME ALL THAT GRIEVES THEE.

Come to me, love, and tell me all that grieves thee,
Come to me, love, more welcome than the gay;
Thy smiles were mine, and now that pleasure leaves thee,
Mine be the task to wipe thy tears away.

See yon fair rose,—how many triflers woo it,
When morning sheds her sunshine and perfume;
But like the bird that sings at midnight to it,
I'll be thy guard, dear love, in hours of gloom.

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VI. I'D BE YOUR SHADOW.

I'd be your shadow, my own dear love!
Your steps I'd follow where'er you rove:
Then I'd resemble the form you wear—
How cold a copy of one so fair!
But I'd not leave you when joy is gone,
Though there's no shadow when there's no sun.

I'd be your echo, my own dear love!
Unseen I'd follow where'er you rove.
Each word you utter, I would repeat,
How vain to rival a voice so sweet!
But I'd be with you when dark days come,
Though faithless echo in storms is dumb.

VII. OH! WHEN THE TIDE WAS OUT.

Oh when the tide was out last night,
In yonder bay we roved,
We gathered shells, and on the sand
We wrote the names we loved.

And now we wander forth, and find
No friendly records there.
The morning tide effaced the words
We traced with so much care.

'Tis thus with all whose glory rests
Upon the sands of earth;
As vain is all the pomps of pride,
As vain the smiles of mirth.

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The ceaseless tide at intervals
Will rush o'er all the scene;
'Twill pass—and not a record then
Will tell where they have been!

VIII. DEAREST INFANT, PURE AS FAIR.

Dearest infant, pure as fair,
Whilst I watch thy closing eye,
Thus my babe, thy mother's pray'r
Mingles with her lullaby:
Oh be content
And innocent!

When thy lip's uncertain sound
Ripens into words at length;
When thy foot upon the ground,
Steps relying on its strength:
Oh be content
And innocent!

When the tempting world shall come
With the garland that she waves,
Some without a thorn, but some
Hiding poison in their leaves:
Oh be content
And innocent!