'Mong the blue hills, come mingled echoes straying,
The pleasant sounds that fill the summer day.

Aburnum's gold, and quivering beech-leaves blending,
Sway, dancing in the breezes, to and fro;
Wild hyacinths, their blue heads lowly bending,
Listen the secrets of the winds to know.

Oh! quaint old trysting-place! oh! lights and shadows,
And sounds that haunt the dreams of Life's glad May!
Dreams withered like the May-flowers in the meadows
Or roses of the Junes long passed away.

Here, oft in dreams, I see my own true maiden,
The pure flower-face, the rippling golden hair;
Ah! many years have roll'd past, sorrow-laden,
Since blue-eyed Edmee waited for me there!

Ah! murmuring brook, with waving willow fringes,
Ah! woodland picture, all your charmed glow
Is touched and changed by Truth's own sober tinges,
Tints that youth's eager eyes see not, nor know.

Fraught with these gleams of old-time faith and feeling,
Fraught with the memory of "what might have been,"
A still, small voice says all is God's wise dealing,
Behind the clouds is brightness yet unseen.

Young love and hope in all their matchless glory,
Smile on our morning-time, then fade away;