 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
338
SWEETLY FALL THE DEWS.
I.
Sweetly fall the dews of night,Gently swells the evening air,
And the moon, with maiden bright,
Walks her dream like sphere:
And the flow'r now folds her leaf,
And the bee hath ceased his hum;
Slumber stills the mourner's grief—
Rapture, too, is dumb.
II.
Not a murmur wakes the shore,Fill'd with strife and sorrow long;
And, in place of ocean's roar,
There's a breath of song!
All's not grief that nature knows,
Skies are never all o'ercast,
And, from Heaven, a sweet repose,
Anguish wins at last.
III.
Wherefore battle with the cloud,When the morrow's calm is nigh?
Even as we brood above the shroud,
Hark the lullaby!
For each joy that flies to-day,
One more bright the morrow brings;
For each dear bird flown away,
One to-morrow sings.
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |