She comes to tell me I have tarried long:
I hear her now an old love ditty hum,
And now she calls--I come, dear love, I come.




THE RETURN.


Grateful to our sleepless eyes,
Lo, the beams of morn arise,
And the mountain-tops are gray
With the light of coming day,--
And the birds are on the wing.
With the happy birds we'll sing
Bidding doubt and gloom be gone,
Like the shadows at the dawn.

Yes, for eyes as bright as day
Glance adown the shady way;
Gentle voices with delight
Whisper, "They will come to-night";
Hearts as fond and true as ours
Wait for us in lovely bowers:
Nor shall wait for us in vain,
Faithful ones, we come again.

Where the bending willows weep,
And the mosses slowly creep,