And I fancy I hear from the distant hills
A blast of wind sweeping o'er the lea,
From the gray old hawthorns and foam-clad rills,
To tell a word of their woe to me.
Oh, Summer so lovely, lost and dead,
I miss your sunshine and balmy hours,
And blissful calms, when the noontide shed
Its dreamy radiance on fields and flowers!
I miss your bird-songs that called me up
To welcome the blush of the golden morn,
When the dew-pearls gleamed in the harebell's cup,
And the lark soared high o'er the fields of corn.
I miss the hush of the quiet eves,
When the gloaming stole through the silent wood,
And the low-toned zephyrs that stirred the leaves
Were like elfin harps in the solitude.
Oh! Spring, return with your tender buds,
And thousand splendours to deck the earth;
Come back and reign in the grand old woods,
And Winter shall fly at your welcome birth.
Come back, and wide o'er the hills and vales,
The birds your welcome in glee shall sing;
And their songs shall float on the gentle gales
Till the earth in gladness and joy shall ring!
MY TREASURES.
Yes, I have treasures—not of gold or silver,
Yet they are hoarded with a miser's care;
Cherished and loved more tenderly and fondly
Than purest gems, or jewels rich and rare.
Only a scrap of paper, old and faded,
Only some withered rose-leaves, sere and dry;
And one long tress of hair, all bright and golden,
Dear relics of the happy days gone by.
Well I remember that long, dreamy summer,
With all its sunshine and its cloudless days;
The pleasant rambles through the lanes at even,
When earth was glowing in the sunset rays.