WHEN WILT THOU RETURN?
When wilt thou return?
The silver clouds are closing
Like billows o'er the fairy path
Of sunset there reposing;
The sapphire fields of heaven,
With its golden splendour burn,
And purple is the mountain peak,—
But when wilt thou return?
When wilt thou return?
The woods are bright with summer,
And the violet's bower is grac'd
With the rose—a queenly comer;
The stars, that in the air
Like ethereal spirits burn,
Seem watching for thy steps,—
Oh I when wilt thou return?
When wilt thou return?
The sheathless sword is idle,
And each warrior from his steed
Has thrown aside the bridle.
Hark!—'tis the trumpet's call!
With hope our bosoms burn;
Its echo wakes the distant hills,
Announcing thy return!