 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
LVIII.
[The flutes breathed airs harmonious]
The flutes breathed airs harmonious;
Low rang the deep bassoon:
But what was melody to us?
Our hearts were out of tune.
Low rang the deep bassoon:
But what was melody to us?
Our hearts were out of tune.
55
With trifling talk we would beguile
Our griefs and put them by:
We tried to smile; but such a smile
Had better been a sigh.
Our griefs and put them by:
We tried to smile; but such a smile
Had better been a sigh.
The bell was rung, the paddles smote
The waves that beat the shore;
And then, upon the deep afloat,
The last farewell was o'er.
The waves that beat the shore;
And then, upon the deep afloat,
The last farewell was o'er.
Soon on the ocean's utmost rim
A faint blue ridge was seen;
The insubstantial vision dim
Of that which once had been.
A faint blue ridge was seen;
The insubstantial vision dim
Of that which once had been.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |