| |
| OCONEE! in my tranquil slumbers, | |
| At the silent dead of night, | |
| Oft I see thy golden waters | |
| Flashing in the rosy light; | |
| And flashing brightly, gushing river, | 5 |
| On the spirit of my dream, | |
| As in moments fled forever, | |
| When I wandered by thy stream,— | |
| |
| A forest lad, a careless rover, | |
| Rising at the dawn of day, | 10 |
| With my dog and gun,—a hunter, | |
| Shouting o’er the hills away,— | |
| And ever would my shoeless footprints | |
| Trace the shortest path to thee; | |
| There the plumpest squirrel ever | 15 |
| Chuckled on the chestnut-tree. | |
| |
| And when, at noon, the sun of summer | |
| Glowed too fiercely from the sky, | |
| On thy banks were bowers grateful | |
| To a rover such as I, | 20 |
| Among the forest branches woven | |
| By the richly scented vine, | |
| Yellow jasmine, honeysuckle, | |
| And by creeping muscadine. | |
| |
| And there I lay in pleasant slumber, | 25 |
| And the rushing of thy stream | |
| Ever made a gentle music, | |
| Blending softly with my dream,— | |
| My dream of her who near thy waters | |
| Grew beneath my loving eye, | 30 |
| Fairest maid of Georgia’s daughters,— | |
| Sweetest flower beneath her sky! | |
| |
| With snowy brow, and golden ringlets, | |
| Eyes that beggared heaven’s blue, | |
| Voice as soft as summer streamlets, | 35 |
| Lips as fresh as morning dew!— | |
| Although she played me oft the coquette, | |
| Dealing frowns and glances shy, | |
| These but made her smiles the dearer | |
| To a rover such as I. | 40 |
| |
| What if the earth by fairer river | |
| Nursed more beauteous maid than she,— | |
| He had found a slow believer | |
| Who had told that tale to me; | |
| And sure I am, no knighted lover | 45 |
| Truer faith to ladie bore, | |
| Than the little barefoot rover, | |
| Dreaming on thy pleasant shore. | |
| |
| The happiest hours of life are vanished; | |
| She has vanished with them, too! | 50 |
| Other bright-eyed Georgia damsels | |
| Blossom where my lily grew;— | |
| And yet the proudest, and the sweetest | |
| To my heart can never seem | |
| Lovely as the little Peri | 55 |
| Mouldering by thy murmurous stream! | |
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