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152 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
Come down from yonder tow'ring height, And sit ye on this spreading bough—
Nay, nay! those crimson clouds of light Allure you onward, upward now.
Had I your wings, thou restless train, I would not mount those clouds of light;
I 'd take my course more near the plain, And find some spot to me more bright.
Some spot, where smiles, that warm the heart, Scatter their purer, richer rays;
Where crimson clouds more softly float In the calm, summer evening's haze.
Some spot, where long belov'd ones tread,
Some sacred hamlet far away ; Quick, quick my pinions should be spread,
And seek those shades without delay.
In part my search would be in vain, For some I 've lov'd I might not find—
Nay, nay! my flight naught should restrain, I'd seek the dwelling of the mind!
I shall have wings, sweet birds, like you, And then I '11 find the lov'd and lost;
I '11 bid the world a long adieu, And fly to what I covet most.