“They tell me that my father’s lying
In the dark grave by her side;
That I’m left on life’s rough billow
With no earthly friend or guide.
“When the wild woods echo loudly,
And the merry songsters sing,
When the winds are hurrying past me
With sweet music on their wings,
“Methinks I hear my mother calling,
And her grave I long to find;
But there’s no one here to lead me,
For the orphan boy is blind.”
He now sleeps within that church-yard
Where he ofttimes long’d to be;
Angels bore his soul to heaven,
Now the poor blind boy can see.
The Lake-Side Shore.
Summer’s breath is lightly falling
On the silent waters blue,
And the moonbeams bright are sporting
With the drops of glittering dew;
Hark! away upon the waters
There’s a sound of dipping oar,
And a boat-song loudly chanted,
Echoes down the lake-side shore.
Now the night-bird’s song comes floating
Sweetly down the midnight air,
Waking all the depths, to listen
To the birds that thus should dare
To break the weird and solemn stillness,
That had reign’d so long before,
In the wood, and mead, and valley,
On the silent lake-side shore.
Now the song comes swelling bolder,
And the boatman’s chant is heard,
Louder o’er the distant waters,
As it would outvie the bird;
But each song at last is finish’d,
And the bird to rest once more,
Leaves no sound to break the quiet
Of the happy lake-side shore.