Farewell! to the sunbright South; For the Summer is hastening on; And the Spring flowers bright in their fragrant youth, 'But when days have pass'd and I come again, Their forms shall have died away; And mine must it be their cold shroud to twine, Farewell! to the sunbright South; To its midnight dance and its song; 'And the student hath lifted his pallid brow, But oft shall they sigh in the parching heat, 'Farewell! to the sunbright South; To the chime of its deep, deep sea; 'Farewell! to its cheerful, its ancient halls. 'My hollow moans at the casement bars, And the startled ear in its lonely sigh, Heard the voice of the sheeted dead. 'But the days are pass'd the hearth is dim, And the evening tale is done; 'Mid the green-wood now is the choral hymn, As it smiles in the setting sun. 'Farewell! to the land of the South; My pathway is far o'er the deep, Where the boom of the rolling surge is heard, And the bones of the shipwreck'd sleep. 'I go to the land of mist and storm, Where the iceberg booms o'er the swell, Afar from the sunlit mountains and streams; Sweet land of the South! farewell!' The song had ceased; and the Summer breeze, Came whispering up the glen; And the green leaves danced on the forest-trees, As they welcomed its breath again. And the cold rocks slept in the moonlight wan, But the wintry wind and its song were gone. FREDERIC MELLEN. SABBATH EVENING. LIST! there is music in the air! It is the eve of rest; the light Still lingers on the moss-grown tower, While to the drowsy ear of night, Slowly it marks the evening hour, "Tis hushed! and all is silent there, Save the low, fervent voice of prayer. And now far down the quiet vale, Sweet hymnings on the air float by; Hushing the Whip-poor-will's sad wail With its own plaintive melody. They breathe of peace, like the sweet strains That swept at night o'er Bethlem's plains. And heads are bowed, as the low hymn And the distant footfall echoes loud, And now beneath the old elm shade, Where the cold moon-beams may not smile; Bright flowers upon the graves are laid, And sad tears shed unseen the while. The last sweet gift affection brings, How beautiful those simple flowers Strewn o'er that silent spot now sleep; The bright new moon hath set: the light The music of ten thousand rills The crowd hath pass'd away; the prayer And low-breath'd evening hymn are gone; The cold mist only lingers there, O'er the dark moss and mould'ring stone. And the stars shine brightly o'er the glen, Where rest the quiet homes of men. VENETIAN MOONLIGHT. THE midnight chime had tolled from Marco's towers, The gondolieri paused upon their oars, Muttering their prayers as through the still night crept. Gazed at his star and turned himself to rest. 'Twas moonlight on Venetia's sea, The thousand isles that clustered there A thousand sparkling lights were set While through the marble halls But sweeter far on Adria's sea, While sounding harp and martial zell, Seemed heaven's wide arch to span. |