 | Poems |  |
BY UMPACHENA'S RUSHING STREAM.
By Umpachena's rushing stream
I musing strayed at twilight hour,
While the low sun's dim parting beam
Looked from the west with fitful glow'r.
The wind breathed hollow thro' the Glen;
I caught its wild and solemn strain.—
O, had I but a magic pen
Those notes I 'd write, and hear again.
I musing strayed at twilight hour,
While the low sun's dim parting beam
Looked from the west with fitful glow'r.
The wind breathed hollow thro' the Glen;
I caught its wild and solemn strain.—
O, had I but a magic pen
Those notes I 'd write, and hear again.
It waked the chord of memory,
Low-answering in my anxious breast;
My spirit sank in reverie,
By gloomy care and sorrow press'd.
And while I pondered o'er the past,
And bent a forward look in vain,
The shades of evening gathered fast
And night veiled stream, and hill, and plain.
Low-answering in my anxious breast;
95
By gloomy care and sorrow press'd.
And while I pondered o'er the past,
And bent a forward look in vain,
The shades of evening gathered fast
And night veiled stream, and hill, and plain.
But soon the wind grew hushed and still,
The stream went gently skipping by;
And far beyond the woody hill
The coming stars blinked merrily.
Fair Cynthia rose with golden horn
And shed her mellow light below.—
So on the night shall burst the morn!
So often joy succeeds to wo!
The stream went gently skipping by;
And far beyond the woody hill
The coming stars blinked merrily.
Fair Cynthia rose with golden horn
And shed her mellow light below.—
So on the night shall burst the morn!
So often joy succeeds to wo!
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