I love to hear the flute's sweet notes,
On Zephyr's balmy pinion borne ;
While soft the melting cadence floats,
And sighing echoes wake to mourn;
Stealing on th' enraptur'd ear,
At the closing hour of day,
Wildly warbling, sweet and clear,
Grateful as affection's tear,
Then in murmurs die away.
I love to hear, when blushing morn
Tips the clouds with rosy hue,
The new-wak'd lark salute the dawn,
His matin song of praise renew,
Singing as he skims the plain,
Or directs his flight above;
Waking all the tuneful train,
To begin the sylvan strain,
Harmonizing every grove.
I love to hear, when mid-day heat
With listless languor fills the brain,
Deep in some shady, cool retreat,
The distant waterfall complain,
As it leaps the craggy mound,
Pouring down the rocky height,
Foaming o'er the pebbled ground,
Bidding echo swell the sound,
While it sparkles on the sight.
But when with her, whose image dwells
Within my glowing breast, I stray,
The music more divinely swells,
The lark more sweetly tunes his lay;
While beneath the shade we rove,
Murmuring streamlets sooth the ear,
Thro' the calm sequester'd grove,
Echo whispers only love—
Cupids only, hover near.
What power can prop a sinking soul,
Oppress'd with woes and sick of grief,
Bid the warm tear forbear to roll,
Despair's heart-rending sigh control,
And whisper sweet relief?
Friendship! sweet balm for sorrow's smart,
In thee the soothing power is found,
To heal the lacerated heart,
Extract affliction's venom'd dart,
And close the rankling wound.
When pierc'd by grief's chill tempest through,
The tendril bends beneath its power,
Thou canst the broken plant renew:
Thy sacred tear, like heavenly dew,
Revives the drooping flower.
If Fortune frown-if Health depart,
Or death divide the tenderest tie,
Friendship can raise the sinking heart,
A glow of real joy impart,
And wipe the tearful eye.
If foes without attack our name,
Or foes within assault our peace,
Then Friendship's pure celestial flame,
Can soothe the mind-defend our fame,
And bid assailants cease.
If hopeless Love our bliss destroy,
And fill the breast with black despair,
All peace such sufferers can enjoy,
Is built by Friendship's kind employ,
Which lessens every care.
Come, then, sweet power, of source divine,
For ever glow within my breast;
My earliest friend be ever mine,
One link our hearts in union join,
To make each other blest.
Where Hudson's murmuring billows
Kiss Jersey's verdant shore,
Beneath those spreading willows
Sleeps Henry of the moor.
The pride of all the plain
Was Anna's chosen swain :
But Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps
Beneath the weeping willow tree.
They loved with pure affection,
Their artless souls were true;
The promising connexion
Their friends with rapture view,
And name the morn of May
Their happy wedding day.
But Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps
Beneath the weeping willow tree.
They hail the rising morrow,
Which dawns to see them blest;
But ah! ere eve, what sorrow
Fills Anna's lovely breast!
She sees the Hudson's wave
Become her Henry's grave;
And Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps
Beneath the weeping willow tree.
She tears her flowing tresses,
Invokes his parted breath,
And with her wild caresses
Invites him back from death;
But ah! her lip's warm kiss
Imparts no glow to his!
And Anna weeps, for Henry sleeps
Beneath the weeping willow tree.
She sees beneath the willow
Her lover laid to rest,
The earth his nuptial pillow,
And not her virgin breast.
Around his verdant tomb
The early daisies bloom;
There Anna weeps, there Henry sleeps Beneath the weeping willow tree.
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