I'll rest me in
this sheltered bower,
And look upon the
clear blue sky
That smiles upon
me through the trees,
Which stand so
thickly clustering by;
And view their
green and glossy leaves,
All glistening in
the sunshine fair;
And list the
rustling of their boughs,
So softly
whispering through the air.
And while my ear
drinks in the sound,
My winged soul
shall fly away;
Reviewing long
departed years
As one mild,
beaming, autumn day;
And soaring on to
future scenes,
Like hills and
woods, and valleys green,
All basking in
the summer's sun,
But distant
still, and dimly seen.
Oh, list! 'tis
summer's very breath
That gently
shakes the rustling trees -
But look! the
snow is on the ground -
How can I think
of scenes like these?
'Tis but the
frost that clears the air,
And gives the sky
that lovely blue;
They're smiling
in a winter's sun,
Those evergreens
of sombre hue.
And winter's
chill is on my heart -
How can I dream
of future bliss?
How can my spirit
soar away,
Confined by such
a chain as this?
