61
The sky was blue, the air was mild;
Free were the streams and green the bowers;
As if, to rough assaults unknown,
The genial spot had ever shown
A countenance that sweetly smiled,
The face of summer-hours.
Free were the streams and green the bowers;
As if, to rough assaults unknown,
The genial spot had ever shown
A countenance that sweetly smiled,
The face of summer-hours.
And we were gay, our hearts at case,
With pleasure dancing through the frame;
All that we knew of lively care,
Our path that straggled here and there,
Of trouble—but the fluttering breeze,
Of Winter—but a name.
With pleasure dancing through the frame;
All that we knew of lively care,
Our path that straggled here and there,
Of trouble—but the fluttering breeze,
Of Winter—but a name.
—If foresight could have rent the veil
Of three short days—but hush—no more!
Calm is the grave, and calmer none
Than that to which thy cares are gone,
Thou Victim of the stormy gale,
Asleep on Zurich's shore!
Of three short days—but hush—no more!
Calm is the grave, and calmer none
Than that to which thy cares are gone,
Thou Victim of the stormy gale,
Asleep on Zurich's shore!
