HYMN OF THE CALABRIAN SHEPHERDS TO THE VIRGIN.
BY L. E. L.
A peasant group, whose lips are full of prayer
And hearts of home affections, such as flow
So naturally in piety.
Darker and darker fall around
The shadows from the pine,
It is the hour with hymn and prayer
To gather round thy shrine.
Hear us, sweet Mother! thou hast known
Our earthly hopes and fears,
The bitterness of mortal toil,
The tenderness of tears.
We pray thee first for absent ones,
Those who knelt with us here—
The father, brother, and the son,
The distant, and the dear.
We pray thee for the little bark
Upon the stormy sea;
Affection's anxiousness of love,
Is it not known to thee?
The soldier, he who only sleeps
His head upon his brand,
Who only in a dream can see
His own beloved land.
The wandering minstrel, he who gave
Thy hymns his earliest tone,
Who strives to teach a foreign tongue
The music of his own.
Kind Mother, let them see again
Their own Italian shore;
