 | Xeniola |  |
112
MEMORY.
On you I think, while lingering far
away
From all I love, till streams the eye with tears,—
The fields are full of life—the groves are gay
And green!—and Spring in all her charms appears.
From all I love, till streams the eye with tears,—
The fields are full of life—the groves are gay
And green!—and Spring in all her charms appears.
On you I think! when, by the silent shore,
Memory recalls whate'er was dear to me!
As shuddering I stray, where moonbeams hoar
Scatter their silvery light o'er sand and sea.
Memory recalls whate'er was dear to me!
As shuddering I stray, where moonbeams hoar
Scatter their silvery light o'er sand and sea.
On you I think, when, where the alders fringe
The stream, I view their shadows pictured fair,
I gaze on clouds that evening colurs tinge,
And the heart whispers, shall I meet you there?
The stream, I view their shadows pictured fair,
I gaze on clouds that evening colurs tinge,
And the heart whispers, shall I meet you there?
On yoy I think!—unloved, abandoned, lone,
'Mong dreary scenes that cannot give relief,—
And when, at evening gray, in proud saloon
I mourn, and worldlings dream not of my grief!
'Mong dreary scenes that cannot give relief,—
And when, at evening gray, in proud saloon
I mourn, and worldlings dream not of my grief!
| Xeniola | |