Call me away; there's
nothing here,
That wins my soul to stay;
Then let me leave this
prospect drear,
And hasten far away.
To our beloved land I'll
flee,
Our land of thought and
soul,
Where I have roved so oft
with thee,
Beyond the world's
control.
I'll sit and watch those
ancient trees,
Those Scotch firs dark and
high;
I'll listen to the eerie
breeze,
Among their branches sigh.
The glorious moon shines
far above;
How soft her radiance
falls,
On snowy heights, and
rock, and grove;
And yonder palace walls!
Who stands beneath yon fir
trees high?
A youth both slight and
fair,
Whose bright and restless
azure eye
Proclaims him known to
care,
Though fair that brow, it
is not smooth;
Though small those
features, yet in sooth
Stern passion has been
there.
Now on the peaceful moon
are fixed
Those eyes so glistening
bright,
But trembling teardrops
hang betwixt,
And dim the blessed light.
Though late the hour, and
keen the blast,
That whistles round him
now,
Those raven locks are
backward cast,
To cool his burning brow.
His hands above his
heaving breast
Are clasped in agony --
'O Father! Father! let me
rest!
And call my soul to thee!
I know 'tis weakness thus
to pray;
But all this cankering
care --
This doubt tormenting
night and day
Is more than I can bear!
With none to comfort, none
to guide
And none to strengthen me.
Since thou my only friend
hast died --
I've pined to follow thee!
Since thou hast died! And
did he live
What comfort could his
counsel give --
To one forlorn like me?
Would he my Idol's form
adore --
Her soul, her glance, her
tone?
And say, "Forget for
ever more
Her kindred and thine own;
Let dreams of her thy
peace destroy,
Leave every other hope and
joy
And live for her
alone"?'
He starts, he smiles, and
dries the tears,
Still glistening on his
cheek,
The lady of his soul
appears,
And hark! I hear her speak
--
'Aye, dry thy tears; thou
wilt not weep --
While I am by thy side --
Our foes all day their
watch may keep
But cannot thus divide
Such hearts as ours; and
we tonight
Together in the clear
moon's light
Their malice will deride.
No fear our present bliss
shall blast
And sorrow we'll defy.
Do thou forget the dreary
past,
The dreadful future I.'
Forget it? Yes, while thou
art by
I think of nought but
thee,
'Tis only when thou art
not nigh
Remembrance tortures me.
But such a lofty soul to
find,
And such a heart as thine,
In such a glorious form
enshrined
And still to call thee
mine --
Would be for earth too
great a bliss,
Without a taint of woe
like this,
Then why should I repine?
