. The poetical works of Fitz-Greene Halleck : Now first collected ; illustrated with steel engravings, from drawings by American artists . TO * * * * The world is bright before thee, Its summer flowers are thine,Its calm blue sky is oer thee, Thy bosom Pleasures shrine ;And thine the sunbeam given To Natures morning hour,Pure, warm, as when from heaven It burst on Edens bower. There is a song of sorrow,The death-dirge of the gay, That tells, ere dawn of morrow,These charms may melt away, 52 to * ***, That suns bright beam be shaded,That sky be blue no more, The summer flowers be faded,And yout
. The poetical works of Fitz-Greene Halleck : Now first collected ; illustrated with steel engravings, from drawings by American artists . TO * * * * The world is bright before thee, Its summer flowers are thine,Its calm blue sky is oer thee, Thy bosom Pleasures shrine ;And thine the sunbeam given To Natures morning hour,Pure, warm, as when from heaven It burst on Edens bower. There is a song of sorrow,The death-dirge of the gay, That tells, ere dawn of morrow,These charms may melt away, 52 to * ***, That suns bright beam be shaded,That sky be blue no more, The summer flowers be faded,And youths warm promise oer. Believe it not—though lonely Thy evening home may be;Though Beautys bark can only Float on a summer sea ;Though Time thy bloom is stealing, Theres still beyond his artThe wild-flower wreath of feeling, The sunbeam of the THE FIELD OF THE GROUNDED ARMS, SARATOGA. Strangers ! your eyes are on that valley fixedIntently, as we gaze on vacancy, When the minds wings oerspread The spirit-world of dreams. True, tis a scene of loveliness—the brightGreen dwelling of the summers first-born Hours, Whose wakened leaf and bud Are welcoming the morn. And morn returns the welcome, sun and cloudSmile on the green earth from their home in heaven, Even as a mother smiles Above her cradled boy, And wreath their light and shade oer plain and mountain,Oer sleepless seas of grass whose waves are flowers, The rivers golden shores, The forests of dark pines. The song of the wild bird is on the wind,The hum of the wild bee, the music wild Of waves upon the bank, Of leaves upon the bough. But all is song and beauty in the land,Beneath her skies of June; then journey on, A thousand scenes like this Will greet you ere the eve. THE GROUNDED ARMS. 55 Ye linger yet—ye see not, hear not nowThe sunny smile, the music of to-day, Yo
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