| |
| WE sat till evening sank upon the vale | |
| With dewy shadows soft; the mountain-tops | |
| With clear sharp outline gleaming still in light, | |
| And at our feet, meadow, and waving grain, | |
| And orchards clustering round the village roof. | 5 |
| Our seat was in the shadow of a grove | |
| Of fir-trees and tall pines, amid whose boughs, | |
| Heavy with dew, the delicate-fingered wind | |
| Played mournful airs. Anon from out the vale | |
| Came various sounds commingled, pleasing all; | 10 |
| Watch-dog and lowing herd, and children’s laugh, | |
| And vesper song of some belated bird. | |
| Once, too, the village bell awoke; a peal | |
| Solemn, yet soothing, deep and silvery tones, | |
| Floating in liquid cadence on the wind, | 15 |
| And mingling with the music of the pines. | |
| And this was once thy home; familiar all | |
| To thy dear eyes these scenes so new to mine. | |
| Yon dewy valley with its Sabbath smile, | |
| You fir-clad mountains girding it around, | 20 |
| And yonder village with its single street, | |
| Beheld thy joyous girlhood, and the growth | |
| Of that pure spirit whose sweet ministry | |
| Hath taught my world-worn heart to trust again. | |
| Ah! how mysteriously the threads of life | 25 |
| Are woven. In the sunshine of those days, | |
| No revelation came to tell thy heart | |
| For whom its stores of love were ripening; | |
| Nor mid the shadows that encompassed me | |
| Had even one faint sunbeam pierced! and now, | 30 |
| Hand within hand, and heart on heart reposing, | |
| My sadder nature drawing light from thee, | |
| And tempering the buoyancy of thine, | |
| We stand, and bless together this sweet vale, | |
| And treasure up for memory’s dearest page | 35 |
| Our Sabbath evening’s walk beneath the pines. | |
| |
