156
HARK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING.
I have questioned thee oft, when the summer was warm,
I Have questioned thee oft, midst the rage of the storm,
And a voice comes to me, like a voice from the wave,
"No secrets have I, which thy spirit should crave."
I Have questioned thee oft, midst the rage of the storm,
And a voice comes to me, like a voice from the wave,
"No secrets have I, which thy spirit should crave."
Methinks that a voice might be heard from each bough;
Old tree of the forest! give tongue to them now!
Of the years thou hast numbered—could I but once climb,
Many things I could tell, that had pass'd in my time!
Old tree of the forest! give tongue to them now!
Of the years thou hast numbered—could I but once climb,
Many things I could tell, that had pass'd in my time!
Perchance, 'neath thy cover, the red Indian sprung,
Perchance, thro' thy branches, the war-shout has rung!
Here the fire of their council perchance was last made,
And they sleep here the last sleep of death in thy shade!
Perchance, thro' thy branches, the war-shout has rung!
Here the fire of their council perchance was last made,
And they sleep here the last sleep of death in thy shade!
Ah! who may give answer! not thou- of the wood,
For thy spirit is fitful, and dark is thy mood;
And thy voice comes to me like a voice from the blast,
"The tales of the past I have given to the past."
For thy spirit is fitful, and dark is thy mood;
And thy voice comes to me like a voice from the blast,
"The tales of the past I have given to the past."
