Ye sweet summer birds! in your flight
Afar o'er the southern sea, Will ye stoop from your aerified height
To whisper my lover of me?

Again will ye hoist your bright wing
When ice-fields unloose from our shore; New tunes through the woodlands shall ring;—
Those tones! shall I hear never more?
Remind him that low in the sky
Sails the god of the long summer day; That later the glory-glints hie
From their couch, with its curtains of gray.

Yet—tell him through nature's vast range,
Reaped harvests, ripe forests aflame;— Oh! tell him, through oceans of change,
I'll love him forever, the same.