. Literature, art and song: Moore's melodies and American poems; . ^ @V all the fair months, that round the sunIn light-linkd dance their circles run, Sweet May, shine thou for me;For still, when thy earliest beams arise,That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies, Sweet May, returns to me. Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leavesIts lingering smile on golden eves, Fair Lake, thou rt dearest to me;For when the last April sun grows Naiads prepare his steed for him Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee. Of all the proud steeds, that ever boreYoung plumed Chiefs on sea or shore, White St
. Literature, art and song: Moore's melodies and American poems; . ^ @V all the fair months, that round the sunIn light-linkd dance their circles run, Sweet May, shine thou for me;For still, when thy earliest beams arise,That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies, Sweet May, returns to me. Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leavesIts lingering smile on golden eves, Fair Lake, thou rt dearest to me;For when the last April sun grows Naiads prepare his steed for him Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee. Of all the proud steeds, that ever boreYoung plumed Chiefs on sea or shore, White Steed, most joy to thee;Who still, with the first young glance of under that glorious lake dost bring My love, my chief, to me. -:^^ RICHES. J^. ^ ( c <^A l^. ~J 1 f dJ^^ ?;il \ »! ii^ ®h^ Witnil^tingi §afil. ^ «itj«ilt life like that of the bard can be,—The wandering bard, who roams as freeAs the mountain lark that oer him sings,And, like that lark, a music bringsWithin him, whereer he comes or goes,—A fount that for ever flows!The worlds to him like some fairies dance their moonlight round ;-If dimmd the turf where late they trod,The elves but seek some greener sod;So, when less bright his scene of another away flies he! ,0l 4-. ,^ %, ( A, ^- v7; 238 ^ ,^A>. %\\l %^ ^^^^ A: Oh, what would have been young Beautys doom, Without a bard to fix her bloom? They tell us, in the moons bright round, Things lost in this dark world are found; So charms, on earth long passd and gone, In the poets lay live on.— Would ye have smiles that neer grow dim? Youve only to give them all to him, Who, with but a touch of Fancys wand, Can lend them life, this life beyond, And fix th
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Keywords: ., bookauthormackenzi, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1872
