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BLUE GRASS BALLADS 41
My soul a sigh that memory gives, And in my heart grows weeping rue, Mourning the maid and her canoe. Who-ee! Who-ee !* Good-bye, old gum-canoe. No more you'll bring the maiden In her dainty gown of blue.
A SUMMER NIGHT.
I saw a disk of molten gold
Sink down against the western edge;
Then cleave the purple of the wold
As 'twere a great and shining wedge That's driven 'neath an unseen sledge.
A gray triangle sweeps along,
Toward the dark'ning eastern line,
Where evening stars in twinkling throng Make merry at the day's decline; And lonely stands a sentry pine.
Above the southern wood the moon
Swings up, a burnished silver wheel;
Sad sounding comes the night-bird's croon; Along the breeze sweet odors steal, And night, in summer, sets its seal.