Littell's Living Age/Volume 133/Issue 1717/Thy Last Farewell


It lingers on the murm'ring forest trees,
With rise and swell,
And leaves its quiv'ring sighs upon the breeze,
That last farewell!

Across the greensward where the daisies raise
Their starry eyes,
And gold and purple in the sunset blaze
All silent lies,

The tender cadence floats on unseen wing
With mournful spell,
And evermore a thousand echoes ring
Thy last farewell!

Ah! never more the dewy grass will bend
Beneath thy feet,
Nor golden morning with thy tresses blend
In mingling sweet.

And never will the leafy hollows part
Their whisp'ring boughs
To welcome thee when day's bright beams depart,
And evening glows.

No longer will the wooded echoes wake
To hear again
Thy voice, which ringing through the glades did break
The wild bird's strain.

And other feet will press the wavy grass
Where sunshine glows,
And other forms along the greenwood pass,
Crowned with wild rose.

And other voices on the western gale
Will softly play,
Along the silent hill, and up the vale,
While far away.

Thou wilt be wandering in distant lands,
And years will roll,
While dimly, it may be, this fair time stands
On memory's scroll;

And greener paths stretch out before thy view,
And shadows fair,
In robes all radiant with the rainbow hue,
Sail through the air.

Yet evermore these winsome scenes to me
Of sadness tell,
And waving trees and flowers still echo silently
Thy last farewell!

Golden Hours.M.