Before these fields were shorn and tilled, Full to the brim our rivers flowed; The melody of waters filled The fresh and boundless wood; And torrents dashed and rivulets played, And fountains spouted in the shade. Those grateful sounds are heard no more, With lessening current run; The realm our tribes are crushed to get SONG. Dost thou idly ask to hear Maidens' hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer! Woo the fair one, when around Early birds are singing; When, o'er all the fragrant ground, Early herbs are springing : When the brookside, bank, and grove, All with blossoms laden, Shine with beauty, breathe of love,— Woo the timid maiden. Woo her when, with rosy blush, Summer eve is sinking; When, on rills that softly gush, Stars are softly winking; When, through boughs that knit the bower, Moonlight gleams are stealing; Woo her, till the gentle hour Wake a gentler feeling. Woo her, when autumnal dyes Youth is passing over, Warn her, ere her bloom is past, To secure her lover. Woo her, when the north winds call At the lattice nightly; When, within the cheerful hall, Blaze the fagots brightly; While the wintry tempest round Sweeps the landscape hoary, Sweeter in her ear shall sound Love's delightful story. HYMN OF THE WALDENSES. HEAR, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs Yet better were this mountain wilderness, Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder; the firm land Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand; Stillest the angry world to peace again. Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons The murderers of our wives and little ones. |