And every sweetest bird that sings
Hath poured a charm upon thy tongue;
And where the bee enamored clings,
There surely thou in love hast clung:—
For when I hear thy laughter free,
And see thy morning-lighted hair,
As in a dream, at once I see
Fair upland scopes and valleys fair.
I see thy feet empearled with dews,
The violet's and the lily's loss;
And where the waving woodland woos
Thou lead'st me over beds of moss;—
And by the busy runnel's side,
Whose waters, like a bird afraid,
Dart from their fount, and, flashing, glide
Athwart the sunshine and the shade.
Or larger streams our steps beguile;—
We see the cascade, broad and fair,
Dashed headlong down to foam, the while
Its iris-spirit leaps to air!
Alas! as by a loud alarm,
The fancied turmoil of the falls
Hath driven me back and broke the charm
Which led me from these alien walls:—
Yes, alien, dearest child, are these
Close city walls to thee and me:
My homestead was embowered with trees,
And such thy heritage should be:—
And shall be;—I will make for thee
A home within my native vale
Where every brook and ancient tree
Shall whisper some ancestral tale.
Now once again I see thee stand,
As down the future years I gaze,
The fairest maiden of the land—
The spirit of those sylvan ways.
And in thy looks again I trace
The light of her who gave thee birth;
She who endowed thy form and face
With glory which is not of Earth.