 | The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber |  |
363
SONG TO A WELCH AIR.
The moon in silent brightness
Rides o'er the mountain brow,
The mist in fleecy whiteness
Has clad the vale below;
Above the woodbine bow'r
Dark waves our trysting-tree;
It is, it is the hour,
Oh come, my love, to me!
Rides o'er the mountain brow,
The mist in fleecy whiteness
Has clad the vale below;
Above the woodbine bow'r
Dark waves our trysting-tree;
It is, it is the hour,
Oh come, my love, to me!
The dews of night have wet me,
While wand'ring lonelily;
Thy father's bands beset me—
I only fear'd for thee.
I crept beneath thy tower,
I climb'd the ivy tree;
And blessed be the hour
That brings my love to me.
While wand'ring lonelily;
Thy father's bands beset me—
I only fear'd for thee.
I crept beneath thy tower,
I climb'd the ivy tree;
And blessed be the hour
That brings my love to me.
364
I left my chosen numbers
In yonder copse below;
Each warrior lightly slumbers,
His hand upon his bow:
From forth a tyrant's power
They wait to set thee free;
It is, it is the hour,—
Oh come, my love, to me!
In yonder copse below;
Each warrior lightly slumbers,
His hand upon his bow:
From forth a tyrant's power
They wait to set thee free;
It is, it is the hour,—
Oh come, my love, to me!
| The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber | |