Alexander McLachlan (1818–1896)

THE CATARACT’S horn

Has awakened the morn,

Her tresses are dripping with dew;

Oh, hush thee and hark!

’Tis her herald the lark

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

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;

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,

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

’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!

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,

With the streams, and the birds, and the flowers.