Oh, sure a mystic tale their echoes tell—
Love's soft, low-whispered vow.
The deep'ning sky o'ercast,
The shadows slowly length' ning 'neath the trees,
The tender leaves, swift in the vernal blast,
To catch the music of the breeze;
The young lush grass a-peep above the earth,
The trailing vines that to the lattice cling,
Ah, these to fancies warm and true give birth,
And o'er my senses fling.