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In the hush of the twilight, beneath the blue skies
My presence will mantle thy soul,
And a feeling of softness will rush to thine eyes,
Too deep for thy manhood's control.
My presence will mantle thy soul,
And a feeling of softness will rush to thine eyes,
Too deep for thy manhood's control.
Thou may'st roam to thine own isle of beauty and fame,
Far, far from the land of the free;
Yet, each wind, that floats round thee, will murmur the name,
That is softer than music to thee;
And when round thee darkly misfortunes shall crowd,
Thou 'It think, like the beautiful form
Of the rainbow, that arches the thick tempest-cloud,
My love would have brightened the storm.
Far, far from the land of the free;
Yet, each wind, that floats round thee, will murmur the name,
That is softer than music to thee;
And when round thee darkly misfortunes shall crowd,
Thou 'It think, like the beautiful form
Of the rainbow, that arches the thick tempest-cloud,
My love would have brightened the storm.
Thou canst not forget me—the passion, that dwelt
In the depth of thy soul, could not die,
With the memory of all, thou hast murmured and felt,
In thy bosom 't will slumbering lie;
Thou may'st turn to another, and wish to forget,
But the wish will not bring thee repose,
For ah! thou wilt find that the thorn of regret
Will be linked with the sweets of the rose.
In the depth of thy soul, could not die,
With the memory of all, thou hast murmured and felt,
In thy bosom 't will slumbering lie;
Thou may'st turn to another, and wish to forget,
But the wish will not bring thee repose,
For ah! thou wilt find that the thorn of regret
Will be linked with the sweets of the rose.
