 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
COME, WHILE THE EVENING SETS SWEET AND CLEAR.
I.
Come, while the evening sets sweet and clear,And the winds are hush'd and the air is balm,
Sing me a Cuban Areyto, dear,
Of the vine, the orange, and bending palm:
Paint me the scene,
The sweet serene,
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When the simple child
Of the clime ran wild,
Nor needed the fig-leaf to hide his shame;
Sing, while the sunset is mild and clear,
Sing me a Cuban Areyto, dear!
II.
Paint me the gentle slope of hills,Cover'd with vintage down to the sea;
Show me the flash of the limpid rills,
As they leapt from the thickets, bright and free:
Let me feel the gush,
The happy flush,
That love on the innocent heart bestows;
The clime as at first,
Ere the Spanish thirst
And brutal avarice crushed with blows!
Sing me a simple Areyto, dear,
Of the ancient beauty that harbor'd there!
III.
Oh! how glad was the human lifeThat once they knew in that Eden clime:
Never a passion that grew to strife,
Never a feeling that led to crime;
With the dance and song
They hurried along,
Till, like children at play, they sank to rest,
Dreaming of play
Some other day,
With still a new song for blessing and bless'd.
Ah! could'st thou feel it and sing it, dear,
As sang the gay children who gambol'd there!
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IV.
Paint me the groups, as they wandered away,Plucking the fruits from the shrub and tree,
While the Patriarch sate where the shadows lay,
As now I sit and listen to thee:
And wanton'd the breeze
O'er the summer seas,
And the sun set gleaming in purple and gold,
While the song went free
O'er the placid sea,
As, chasing each other, the billows roll'd,
And broke on the ear with a voice of cheer,
Such as I'd have thy Areyto, dear.
V.
Ah! what have we lost, and what have we won,By the change from the savage to social state?
We have blighted the fruits, we have mock'd the sun,
In our growth to a greater and grander fate;
We have great increase,
But we have no peace;
We have pride and wealth and a mighty name;
but the innocent play
Of that virgin day
Is vanish'd, that never knew pride or shame!
Oh, sing me a Cuban Areyto, dear,
When love had no feeling of shame or fear?
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |