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the sculptor's dream of home.
Till the first star hath risen, and amid
The dark green boughs is flashing, like a gem,
The fire-fly's light.
The dark green boughs is flashing, like a gem,
The fire-fly's light.
Theirs is the converse sweet
Of souls congenial, for each youthful heart
Hath in its hidden depths a perfect world
Of poetry, and a most subtle sense
Of all things beautiful in Nature. She
Hath some rare fancy floating through her brain,
And whispers in his ear that she hath clothed
A fairy legend in bewitching rhyme; while he,
Catching the glories of a sunset sky,
Tells, how in Italy the eve is bright
With hues Italian skies can only know.
Oh! blessed vision! linger, linger still,
Cheer the lone heart, that pines for home once more,
And bear the exile back on memory's wing,
To the dear haunts of boyhood.
Of souls congenial, for each youthful heart
Hath in its hidden depths a perfect world
Of poetry, and a most subtle sense
Of all things beautiful in Nature. She
Hath some rare fancy floating through her brain,
And whispers in his ear that she hath clothed
A fairy legend in bewitching rhyme; while he,
Catching the glories of a sunset sky,
Tells, how in Italy the eve is bright
With hues Italian skies can only know.
Oh! blessed vision! linger, linger still,
Cheer the lone heart, that pines for home once more,
And bear the exile back on memory's wing,
To the dear haunts of boyhood.
Lo! a step
Hath roused him from his dream'; the greenwood shades
Have vanished, and the arches of the wood
Hath roused him from his dream'; the greenwood shades
Have vanished, and the arches of the wood
