Music is sorrowful Since thou art gone, Sisters are mourning thee, Come to thine own! Hark! the home voices call Back to thy rest; Come to thy father's hall, Thy mother's breast! O'er the far blue mountains, O'er the white sea foam, Come, thou long parted one! Back to thine home! O THOU BREEZE OF SPRING!* O thou breeze of spring! Wake the woods to sing, Wake my heart no more! Of thy scented wing, Let each fount replying Hail thee, breeze of spring, Once more! * Set to music by John Lodge, Esq. O'er long buried flowers Passing, not in vain, Odours in soft showers Thou hast brought again. -Let the primrose greet thee, Let the violet pour Incense forth to meet thee Wake my heart no more! No more! From a funeral urn Bowered in leafy gloom, Ev'n thy soft return Calls not song or bloom. Leave my spirit sleeping Like that silent thing ; Stir the founts of weeping There, O breeze of spring, No more! COME TO ME, DREAMS OF HEAVEN. COME to me, dreams of heaven! My fainting spirit bear On your bright wings, by morning given, Up to celestial air. Away, far, far away, From bowers by tempests riven, Fold me in blue, still, cloudless day, Come but for one brief hour, Sweet dreams! and yet again, O'er burning thought and memory shower Your soft effacing rain! |