But when wilt thou return?

When wilt thou return?
The woods are bright with summer,
And the violet's bower is grac'd
With the rose--a queenly comer;
The stars, that in the air
Like ethereal spirits burn,
Seem watching for thy steps,--
Oh I when wilt thou return?

When wilt thou return?
The sheathless sword is idle,
And each warrior from his steed
Has thrown aside the bridle.
Hark!--'tis the trumpet's call!
With hope our bosoms burn;
Its echo wakes the distant hills,
Announcing thy return!


G.R.C.

* * * * *




ANECDOTE GALLERY.