Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 13 1825.pdf/9



I hear thee, O thou rushing stream! thou 'rt from my native dell, Thou 'rt bearing thence a mournful sound, a murmur of Farewell! And fare thee well—flow on, my stream!—flow on, thou bright and free! I do but dream that in thy voice one tone laments for me. But I have been a thing unloved, from childhood's loving years, And therefore turns my soul to thee—for thou hast known my tears! The mountains, and the caves, and thou, my secret tears have known; The woods can tell where he hath wept, that ever wept alone!

"I see thee once again, my home!—thou 'rt there amidst thy vines, And clear upon thy gleaming roof the light of summer shines. It is a joyous hour when Eve breathes whispering through thy groves, The hour that brings the son from toil, the hour the mother loves!