| |
| THE CATARACT’S horn | |
| Has awakened the morn, | |
| Her tresses are dripping with dew; | |
| Oh, hush thee and hark! | |
| ’Tis her herald the lark | 5 |
| That is singing afar in the blue: | |
| Its happy heart ’s rushing, | |
| In strains mildly gushing, | |
| That reach to the revelling earth, | |
| And sink through the deeps | 10 |
| Of the soul, till it leaps | |
| Into raptures far deeper than mirth. | |
| |
| All Nature ’s in keeping, | |
| The live streams are leaping, | |
| And laughing in gladness along; | 15 |
| The great hills are heaving, | |
| The dark clouds are leaving, | |
| The valleys have burst into song. | |
| We’ll range through the dells | |
| Of the bonnie blue-bells, | 20 |
| And sing with the streams on their way; | |
| We’ll lie in the shades | |
| Of the flower-covered glades, | |
| And hear what the primroses say. | |
| |
| Oh, crown me with flowers | 25 |
| ’Neath the green spreading bowers, | |
| With the gems and the jewels May brings; | |
| In the light of her eyes, | |
| And the depth of her dyes, | |
| We’ll smile at the purple of kings! | 30 |
| We’ll throw off our years, | |
| With their sorrows and tears, | |
| And time will not number the hours | |
| We’ll spend in the woods, | |
| Where no sorrow intrudes, | 35 |
| With the streams, and the birds, and the flowers. | |
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