| |
| “WHY wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child? | |
| Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild, | |
| A straw-roofed cabin with lowly wall— | |
| Mine is a fair and a pillar’d hall, | |
| Where many an image of marble gleams, | 5 |
| And the sunshine of pleasure for ever streams.” | |
| |
| “Oh! green is the turf where my brothers play, | |
| Through the long bright hours of the summer day; | |
| They find the red cup-moss where they climb, | |
| And they chase the bee o’er the scented thyme, | 10 |
| And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know. | |
| Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!” | |
| |
| “Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell— | |
| Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well; | |
| Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, | 15 |
| Harps which the wandering breezes tune, | |
| And the silvery wood-note of many a bird | |
| Whose voice was ne’er in thy mountains heard.” | |
| |
| “Oh! my mother sings, at the twilight’s fall, | |
| A song of the hills far more sweet than all; | 20 |
| She sings it under our own green tree | |
| To the babe half slumbering on her knee: | |
| I dreamt last night of that music low— | |
| Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!” | |
| |
| “Thy mother is gone, from her cares to rest— | 25 |
| She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast; | |
| Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy! no more, | |
| Nor hear her song at the cabin door. | |
| Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, | |
| And we’ll pluck the grapes of the richest dye.” | 30 |
| |
| “Is my mother gone from her home away? | |
| But I know that my brothers are there at play— | |
| I know they are gathering the foxglove’s bell, | |
| Or the long fern-leaves by the sparkling well; | |
| Or they launch their boats where the bright streams flow— | 35 |
| Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!” | |
| |
| “Fair child! thy brothers are wanderers now, | |
| They sport no more on the mountain’s brow; | |
| They have left the fern by the spring’s green side, | |
| And the streams where the fairy barks were tried. | 40 |
| Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot, | |
| For thy cabin home is a lonely spot.” | |
| |
| “Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill?— | |
| But the bird and the blue-fly rove o’er it still; | |
| And the red-deer bound in their gladness free, | 45 |
| And the heath is bent by the singing bee, | |
| And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow— | |
| Lady, kind lady! oh, let me go!” | |
| |
