WHISPERINGS IN WATTLE-BOUGHS.
85
WHISPERINGS IN WATTLE-BOUGHS.
Oh, gaily sings the bird, and the wattle-boughs are stirr'd
And rustled by the scented breath of spring;
Oh, the dreary wistful longing! Oh, the faces that are
thronging!
Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering!
And rustled by the scented breath of spring;
Oh, the dreary wistful longing! Oh, the faces that are
thronging!
Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering!
Oh, tell me father mine, ere the good ship cross't the brine,
On the gangway one mute hand-grip we exchanged,
Do you, past the grave, employ, for your stubborn reckless boy,
Those petitions that in life were ne'er estranged.
On the gangway one mute hand-grip we exchanged,
Do you, past the grave, employ, for your stubborn reckless boy,
Those petitions that in life were ne'er estranged.
Oh, tell me, sister dear, parting word and parting tear
Never pass'd between us;-let me bear the blame,
Are you living, girl, or dead? bitter tears since then I've shed
For the lips that lisp'd with mine a mother's name.
Never pass'd between us;-let me bear the blame,
Are you living, girl, or dead? bitter tears since then I've shed
For the lips that lisp'd with mine a mother's name.
