AWAY TO THE HILLS
A HOLIDAY SONG.
Away to the hills, away!—
There is health in the summer air;—
The rustling bough, and the bending spray,
And the breath of flowers are there—
The honey-bee's hum and the wild bird's song,
And sunshine and summer winds all day long!
Away to the hills, away!
There are peace and calmness there—
White cloudlets floating in light all day
Through the blue transparent air,—
Rose-tinted mornings and noontides rare,
And sunsets of crimson and gold are there!
Away to the hills, away!
From your weariness and care—
From toil that has held on with tyrant sway,
To quiet and calmness there;
And bask in the beauty and bloom that fills
The cool, sweet depths of the summer hills!
FLOWERS BY A GRAVE
Alien blossoms! tell me why
Seek ye such a lonely place,
Thus to bloom, and droop, and die
Far away from all your race?
Wherefore, from the sunny bowers
Where your beauteous kindred bloom,
Have ye come, O banished flowers!
Thus to decorate a tomb?
"Mortal, dost thou question why
Thus beside the grave we bloom?
Why we hither come to die,
Aliens from our garden-home?
"'Twas Affection's gentle hand
Placed us thus her dead so near;—
Tis at weeping Love's command
That we breathe our fragrance here.