Page:National Lyrics.pdf/254



I go, sweet friends! yet think of me   When Spring's young voice awakes the flowers; For we have wandered far and free, In those bright hours, the violet's hours.

I go—but when you pause to hear, From distant hills, the Sabbath bell On summer winds float silvery clear, Think on me then—I lov'd it well!

Forget me not around your hearth, When cheerly smiles the ruddy blaze, For dear hath been its evening mirth To me, sweet friends! in other days.