Charles J. Locke

BEAUTIFUL Spirit! that glidest away,

Light o’er the mountain, I pray thee stay!

Stay but a moment, for I would know,

Whence thou hast come, and whither dost go!

Beautiful Spirit! bound by my spell!

Oh! tell, oh! tell,

Murmuring echo, too, bids thee tell.

Why didst thou sail o’er the calm blue lake

All the dark night, and at morning take

Gently thy shadowy robes and fly

Softly away to the glowing sky?—

Sometimes I fancy thee bride of the Sun;

The Sun, the Sun,

Yes, echo calls thee the bride of the Sun.

Flowerets are weeping, because thou art cold,

While in thy presence they sweetly fold

Closer their beauties, so blooming bright,

Striving to keep thee, thou child of light:—

When thou art vanish’d they dry their tears,

Their tears, their tears,

Echo repeats it, they dry their tears.

Oh! for a bride that would haste to me,

Lovely as thou art—in ecstacy—

Melting away in each fond embrace.—

Now thou hast vanish’d, nor left a trace,

Faintly to answer my broken spell;—

Farewell, farewell,

Murmuring echo, now bids farewell.