Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Farewell! my own romantic bower,
Sweet shelter in the noon-tide hour!
Scarce yet thy willow buds unfold
Their silver leaves on stems of gold;
Scarce yet the woodbine's clasping arms
Twine round the elm her modest charms;
Scarce yet, in richest robe array'd,
The oaks display their summer shade;
But thy fair bank, in beauty gay,
Can boast the blooming tints of May;

Pure, limpid, sparkling is the flood,
That murmurs through thy tangled wood;
And fragrant is the balmy gale,
That gently whispers through the vale.

Oh! pleasant is thy turfy seat,
Sweet is thy shade, my lov'd retreat!
Bright pansies deck th' enamell'd ground,
Cowslips and harebels wave around;
The downy blow-ball, brilliant weed!
Spreads its gay blossoms o'er the mead,
Like stars, that in December's gloom,
A countless host, the sky illume.
In superstition's dreary hour
Vast is thy sway, thou star-like flower!
Thy light and feather'd orb reveals
The husband, cruel fate conceals,
As wafted by the maiden's sigh,
The buoyant seeds wide-scattering fly.

But oft, alas! the village maid
Seeks the dark gipsy's fatal aid;
Down by the wood's romantic side
She glides unseen at evening tide,
With trembling awe her fate she hears,
Quick-rising hopes, and bashful fears;
Wak'd by the sybil's wily art,
What transports swell that simple heart!
She tells of gentle lovers true,
With nut-brown hair, and eyes of blue:
“'Tis he, 'tis William!” Lucy cries
And light as air to meet him flies,
Too fond, too happy, to be wise!

How slowly wells the limpid flood!
How calm, how still the solitude!
No sound comes wafted on the gale,
Save the sweet warblings of the vale;
No curling smoke waves on the breeze,
Hemm'd closely in by circling trees,

Save where o'er yonder rustic gate
The tall oaks twine in gothic state,
And through the arch in lustre gay,
The landscape spreads its bright array:
The woodland wild—the cultur'd plain,
Its lowing herds, and fleecy train—
The cottage by the green-wood side,
With blooming orchard spreading wide,—
The village school—the farm—the green—
The ivied tower, at distance seen,—
And the soft hills that swelling rise,
Mingling their grey tops with the skies;
Illumin'd by the western beams,
How fair this living picture gleams!

Lov'd seat, farewell! yet soon I come,
I leave not long my happy home:
When thy sweet woodbine's charms unclose;
When blushes tinge thy modest rose;

When thy pure lily on the tide
Rears her fair flowers, in beauty's pride;
When, where the whiten'd blossoms spread,
The scarlet berry hides its head;
Then will I seek my shelter'd bower,
And wile away the noon-tide hour;
Remote from folly, noise, and strife,
Gaze from my calm retreat, on life;
List to the music of the glade;
Watch the swift flitting shadows fade;
With the lov'd muse of friendship stray,
Or weep o'er Campbell's melting lay.