A FAREWELL. ADIEU! A long, a long adieu! The sweet expression of that face, Yet give me, give me, ere I go, -Say, when, to kindle soft delight, A sigh so short, and yet so sweet? O say-but no, it must not be. DEAR is my little native vale, The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; To every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers, The shepherd's horn at break of day, L L THE sun-beams streak the azure skies, From rock to rock, with giant-bound, High on their iron poles they pass; Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound, Rend from above a frozen mass. The goats wind slow their wonted way, Up craggy steeps and ridges rude; Marked by the wild wolf for his prey, From desert cave or hanging wood. And while the torrent thunders loud, And as the echoing cliffs reply, The huts peep o'er the morning-cloud, Perched, like an eagle's nest, on high. |