 | Words for the hour |  |
164
ADÉ.
A truce, a truce, a gallant truce!
A hand flung up, and a shout of cheer;
The toiling hand that has sped and spun
The labor of the year.
A hand flung up, and a shout of cheer;
The toiling hand that has sped and spun
The labor of the year.
Farewell, ye turbulent hosts of rhyme,
Whose wrangling wrought such ill-content,
Farewell, ye beggarly broken lines,
A Falstaff regiment.
Whose wrangling wrought such ill-content,
Farewell, ye beggarly broken lines,
A Falstaff regiment.
The sour and sweet I could not taste
Till ye had sat and drunk your fill;
The life I bore was never mine,
But yours to waste at will.
Till ye had sat and drunk your fill;
The life I bore was never mine,
But yours to waste at will.
Oh! yon, where the sunset's heart is warm
A fair bird singeth, sorrow-free;
I am his Sister belov'd, he says,
And, wistful, he waits for me.
A fair bird singeth, sorrow-free;
I am his Sister belov'd, he says,
And, wistful, he waits for me.
165
No bird of Juno's nor of Jove's,
Nor Pallas, blinking thro' day-shut eyes;
But a mate-dove, loving so faithfully,
That Love did make him wise.
Nor Pallas, blinking thro' day-shut eyes;
But a mate-dove, loving so faithfully,
That Love did make him wise.
And we will sit as on burnished gold,
The earth-ball rolling at our feet,
And whisper of things which, had they been,
Had been for song too sweet.
The earth-ball rolling at our feet,
And whisper of things which, had they been,
Had been for song too sweet.
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