C 129 3 



THE PARTING OF SUMMER. 



Thou'rt bearing hence thy roses, 



Glad Summer, fare thee well ! 

 Thou'rt singing thy last melodies 



In every wood and dell. 



But in the golden sunset 



Of thy latest lingering day, 

 Oh ! tell me, o'er this chequered earth, 



How hast thou passed away ? 



Brightly, sweet Summer ! brightly 



Thine hours are floated by, 

 To the joyous birds of the woodland boughs, 



The rangers of the sky. 



And brightly in the forests, 



To the wild deer wandering free ; 

 And brightly, 'midst the garden-flowers, 



Is the happy murmuring bee. 



But how to human bosoms, 



With all their hopes and fears, 

 And thoughts that make them eagle- wings, 



To pierce the unborn years ? 



Sweet Summer ! to the captive 



Thou hast flown in burning dreams 



Of the woods, with all their whispering leaves, 

 And the blue rejoicing streams; 



To the wasted and the weary 



On the bed of sickness bound, 

 In swift delicious fantasies, 



That changed with every sound ; 



To the sailor on the billows, 



In longings, wild and vain, 

 For the gushing founts and breezy hills, 



And the homes of earth again ! 



And unto me, glad Summer ! 



How hast thou flown to me ? 

 My chainless footstep nought hath kept 



From thy haunts of song and glee. 



Thou hast flown in wayward visions, 



In memories of the dead 

 In shadows, from a troubled heart, 



O'er thy sunny pathway shed : 



In brief and sudden strivings, 



To fling a weight aside 

 'Midst these thy melodies have ceased, 



And all thy roses died. 



But, oh ! thou gentle Summer ! 



If I greet thy flowers once more, 

 Bring me again the buoyancy 



Wherewith my soul should soar ! 

 Give me to hail thy sunshine, 



With song and spirit free ; 

 Or in a purer air than this 



May that next meeting be ! F. H. 



M.M. New Series.VoL.V. No. 25. S 



