 | Hagar |  |
101
THE THRUSH.
The skies are dark, the hills are gray,
Rain unceasing the live-long day,
Pitiless rain! not a single ray
Over the sunless land may stray;
When will the rain be over?
Rain unceasing the live-long day,
Pitiless rain! not a single ray
Over the sunless land may stray;
When will the rain be over?
List to those notes, so wild and free
From the green depths of yon old tree;
Hark! tis the thrush's song of glee,
Singing so loud and joyously
“Soon will the rain be over.”
From the green depths of yon old tree;
Hark! tis the thrush's song of glee,
Singing so loud and joyously
“Soon will the rain be over.”
The skies are dark, misty the air,
Not a gleam of sunlight anywhere;
Dream'st thou bird, the sky is fair
Cassandra-like, still singing there,
“Soon will the rain be over?
Not a gleam of sunlight anywhere;
Dream'st thou bird, the sky is fair
Cassandra-like, still singing there,
“Soon will the rain be over?
Look to the westward, far away
The blue breaks thro' the curtains gray;
Sing, little prophet bird, alway
Give to the winds thy roundelay,
“Soon will the rain be over.”
The blue breaks thro' the curtains gray;
Sing, little prophet bird, alway
Give to the winds thy roundelay,
“Soon will the rain be over.”
| Hagar | |