 | English melodies |  |
262
COLD BLOWS THE BLAST.
Cold blows the blast, though the summer is nigh;
Cold gleam the stars, and all pale as in tears;
But colder this heart in my bosom doth lie,—
This heart that should be in the spring of its years.
Cold gleam the stars, and all pale as in tears;
But colder this heart in my bosom doth lie,—
This heart that should be in the spring of its years.
Dark sets the storm over wild wood and field,
The herds to their wind-shaken solitude flee;
But darker the woes in my bosom conceal'd,
And wilder the fortune that waits upon me!
The herds to their wind-shaken solitude flee;
But darker the woes in my bosom conceal'd,
And wilder the fortune that waits upon me!
Sad as a wing-broken bird from its nest,
I wander the night, and no shelter I see;
But the chill pining heart of the bird shall find rest,
And sweet is the rest God will yet grant to me.
I wander the night, and no shelter I see;
But the chill pining heart of the bird shall find rest,
And sweet is the rest God will yet grant to me.
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