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remembrance.
Speak of me, when the twilight's purple haze
Shuts each fair prospect from your ardent gaze,
And turning to the quiet joys of home,
Fond memories of departed dear ones come
To stir the heart.
Shuts each fair prospect from your ardent gaze,
And turning to the quiet joys of home,
Fond memories of departed dear ones come
To stir the heart.
Speak of me, when in heaven's blue arch afar,
Shines forth in glory each effulgent star;
Say how I loved their lustre, that my name
May ever dwell amid their hosts of flame
To meet your eyes.
Shines forth in glory each effulgent star;
Say how I loved their lustre, that my name
May ever dwell amid their hosts of flame
To meet your eyes.
Speak of me, when my own sweet garden rose,
On slender stem, in moss-clad beauty blows:
I would be linked with all the flowers that bloom,
Till ye might half forget the cold, dark tomb,
Where I must lie.
On slender stem, in moss-clad beauty blows:
I would be linked with all the flowers that bloom,
Till ye might half forget the cold, dark tomb,
Where I must lie.
Speak of me, when around the winter's hearth,
Young hearts are cheerful with the season's mirth,
And strike the soft guitar I love so well,
And let its chords in some old ballad tell
A tale of me.
Young hearts are cheerful with the season's mirth,
And strike the soft guitar I love so well,
And let its chords in some old ballad tell
A tale of me.
