IV.
Oh! thou hast wandered long
From thy home without a guide,
And thy native woodland song
In thine altered heart hath died.
V.
Thou hast flung the wealth away,
And the glory of thy spring,
And to thee the leaves' light play
Is a long-forgotten thing.
VI.
—But when wilt thou return?
Sweet dews may freshen soon
The flower within whose urn
Too fiercely gazed the noon.
VII.
O'er the image of the sky
Which the lake's clear bosom wore,
Darkly may shadows lie—
But not for evermore.
VIII.
Give back thy heart again
To the gladness of the woods,
To the birds' triumphant strain,
To the mountain-solitudes!
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