Song

Say, ye gentle breezes, say,
Round me why so gently breathing?
What impels thee, streamlet! wreathing
Through the rocks thy silver way?

What awakens new-born joy,
Joy and hope thus sweetly mingled;
Say, has pilgrim-spring enkindled
Rapture with her laughing eye?

Lo! heaven’s temple, bright, serene,
Where the busy clouds are blending,
Sinking now, and now ascending,
Far behind the forest green!

Will the High, the Holy One
Veil youth’s soul-enrapturing vision?
Shall I hear in dreams elysian
Childhood’s early, lovely tone?

See the restless swallow flies
Through the clouds--his own dominion;
Could I reach on hope’s strong pinion,
Where that land of beauty lies!

O how sweet--how blest to be
Where heaven’s shelter might protect me!
Who can lead me--who direct me
To that bright futurity?