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THE SONGS OF OUR FATHERS.
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The songs that through our valleys green,
Sent on from age to age,
Like his own river's voice, have been
The peasant's heritage.
The reaper sings them when the vale
Is fill'd with plumy sheaves;
The woodman, by the starlight pale
Cheer'd homeward through the leaves;
And unto them the glancing oars
A joyous measure keep,
Where the dark rocks that crest our shores
Dash back the foaming deep.
So let it be!—a light they shed
O'er each old fount and grove;
A memory of the gentle dead,
A lingering spell of love:
Murmuring the names of mighty men,
They bid our streams roll on,
And link high thoughts to every glen
Where valiant deeds were done.
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