Birds are singing the live-long day,
Trembling, stoopeth an aspen tree.
Eager to hear what the wind will say
At Chateauguay.
Still the sunlight around me falls,
Still in fancy I seem to see
Two who stand on the crumbling walls
At Chateauguay.
Once more wanders a brown-eyed maid
Up the rough, country road with me,
Swinging her hat by its slender braid,
At Chateauguay.
Once for a moment more we stay
Under the tattling aspen tree—
Birds are sweetly lilting to-day
At Chateauguay.
Tree, thou art dear for that sweet tryst,
Dear, for the maiden's sake, to me
Is each spot that her feet have kissed
At Chateauguay.
A BIRTHDAY.
Fifteen years have come and gone,
Maiden since thy large, brown eyes
Opened first and looked upon
Wintry English skies.
Fifteen treasure ships they were,
Sailing on life's sunlit sea,
Bearing frankincense and myrrh
Sent from heaven to thee:
Fifteen pilgrims, old and gray,
Mounted upon moments fleet,
Who have seen thee but to lay
Pleasure at thy feet:
Fifteen maids who, like a queen,
Decked thee, Sweet, with beauty rare,
Till the world hath never seen
Maiden half so fair.