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Where the soft-chanting waves
Murmur their dirge-like music low and deep
Over the depths where wild, wild spirits sleep
In their dark caves—
Murmur their dirge-like music low and deep
Over the depths where wild, wild spirits sleep
In their dark caves—
Then think of her whose heart, 'mid scenes like these,
Would thrill and echo to each passing breeze
And to the water's chime—
Into whose eyes unbidden tears would rush,
Till from her heart her feelings all would gush
In untaught rhyme.
Would thrill and echo to each passing breeze
And to the water's chime—
Into whose eyes unbidden tears would rush,
Till from her heart her feelings all would gush
In untaught rhyme.
And when Night spreads o'er all her sable shroud,
The time when sweet emotions softly crowd
Within the human breast,
Will not the memory of these thoughts of love,
Scarce owned by us, yet registered above,
Make thee more blest!
The time when sweet emotions softly crowd
Within the human breast,
Will not the memory of these thoughts of love,
Scarce owned by us, yet registered above,
Make thee more blest!
By the love-links that round our young hearts wreathe,
By all we feel, but cannot, dare not breathe,
Whate'er may be our lot,
And by thy fond glance melting into mine,
I ask of thee, where'er that glance may shine,
Forget me not!
By all we feel, but cannot, dare not breathe,
Whate'er may be our lot,
And by thy fond glance melting into mine,
I ask of thee, where'er that glance may shine,
Forget me not!
