 | The forest minstrel |  |
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WINTER.
The Winter has come from the dark wild caves
In the barren hills of the dreary North,
Where the sea lies bound in his frozen waves,
And the snows of eternity shroud the earth.
In the barren hills of the dreary North,
Where the sea lies bound in his frozen waves,
And the snows of eternity shroud the earth.
Realms that the sunlight has never seen,
Where brood the pinions of endless night,
Save where the borealean sheen
Waves her wild banners of lurid night.
Where brood the pinions of endless night,
Save where the borealean sheen
Waves her wild banners of lurid night.
Where the ice with the snow-drifts from the bowers,
Where the weary-winged tempests retire to sleep,
And the hoar frost spangles the waste with flowers,
Fairer than any where night dews weep.
Where the weary-winged tempests retire to sleep,
And the hoar frost spangles the waste with flowers,
Fairer than any where night dews weep.
There Winter asserts his eternal reign,
In the terrible gloom, for his spirit meet;
And hither he sends on a long campaign
His forces of hurricane, snow, and sleet.
In the terrible gloom, for his spirit meet;
And hither he sends on a long campaign
His forces of hurricane, snow, and sleet.
The Summer has fled to the land of flowers,
Where the verdure is budding the whole year long;
And the sweet birds live in the changeless bowers,
And carol an everlasting song;—
Where the verdure is budding the whole year long;
And the sweet birds live in the changeless bowers,
And carol an everlasting song;—
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Where the blossoms are heavy with honey dew,
And the fruits with their nectar juices swell;
Where Plenty and Beauty profusely strew
Their richest of gifts, like a magic spell;—
And the fruits with their nectar juices swell;
Where Plenty and Beauty profusely strew
Their richest of gifts, like a magic spell;—
The Zephyrs have gone to that land of love,
With the hues and the scents of our leaves and flowers;
The beautiful birds of our summer groves
Are resting their wings in those blessed bowers.
With the hues and the scents of our leaves and flowers;
The beautiful birds of our summer groves
Are resting their wings in those blessed bowers.
All desolate now is the field and wood,
Late glowing with beauty, and voiced with love,
And Winter has prisoned the hymning flood,
Spread snow-drifts around us, and clouds above.
Late glowing with beauty, and voiced with love,
And Winter has prisoned the hymning flood,
Spread snow-drifts around us, and clouds above.
Oh! for the joys of our summer hours,
When the earth was all fair, and the sky serene,
When pleasures were sporting in balmy bowers,
Like butterflies spangling a fairy scene.
When the earth was all fair, and the sky serene,
When pleasures were sporting in balmy bowers,
Like butterflies spangling a fairy scene.
Oh! for the days that will come no more,
The days of summer, of song, and glee,
When sunlight gladdened the sea and shore,
And lay in its brightness on you and me.
The days of summer, of song, and glee,
When sunlight gladdened the sea and shore,
And lay in its brightness on you and me.
Oh! is there no South, where the light of peace
And summer of happiness may endure;
No land, where the beauty so brief in this,
May bloom to eternity fair and pure?
And summer of happiness may endure;
No land, where the beauty so brief in this,
May bloom to eternity fair and pure?
Yes, there is a country where living streams
Through bowers of blessedness ever glide,
Where love may embody its holiest dreams,
And beauty immortal and bliss abide.
Through bowers of blessedness ever glide,
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And beauty immortal and bliss abide.
Then why, in the winter of pain and wo,
Cling wailing around the pale buds of time,
When even the sparrow and wild-dove know
The way to a beautiful summer clime?
Cling wailing around the pale buds of time,
When even the sparrow and wild-dove know
The way to a beautiful summer clime?
| The forest minstrel | |