THE FAREWELL.
The roses are dead,
The summer has fled,
And the music of birds will soon cease.
The feathery hours
Have passed with the flowers;
Farewell to the cottage of peace!
The summer has fled,
And the music of birds will soon cease.
The feathery hours
Have passed with the flowers;
Farewell to the cottage of peace!
To your high hills so blue,
A long, mournful adieu,
And your woods, where, enchanted, we roved;
Where, with silent awe filled,
Gay folly was stilled,
And thoughts that were saddest we loved.
A long, mournful adieu,
And your woods, where, enchanted, we roved;
Where, with silent awe filled,
Gay folly was stilled,
And thoughts that were saddest we loved.
Sweet stream, flow along,
And murmur your song,
As you wind through each flowery dell;
While a sigh and a tear,
On your bosom you bear,
From the heart that now bids you farewell.
And murmur your song,
As you wind through each flowery dell;
While a sigh and a tear,
On your bosom you bear,
From the heart that now bids you farewell.
