Where "old Blue" mountain's healthful breeze
Swept o'er the green hill-side,
My little fragile bark was launched
On life's uncertain tide.
There verdant fields and murm'ring brooks
Invited me to roam;
Old towering trees their heads upreared
Around my quiet home.
When morn unveiled her blushing face,
The sun came peeping in;
His quiv'ring beams upon the wall,
Checked by the leafy screen.
Oft in some sweet sequestered dell,
The blushing flow'ret smiled;
And threw around a pleasing spell,
For me, an artless child.
The fragrant blossom peeping up,
From out the mossy sod,
Caused my young thoughts from earth to rise
And soar to nature's God.
In summer, when I wandered forth,
Beneath the deep green shade,
Or when mild autumn walked the rounds,
In gorgeous robes arrayed—
Music, in nature's softest strains,
Stole through my little breast;—
'Twas something I could not define,
Nor could it be expressed.
While some admire the pompous pile,
Or glitt'ring, costly dome,
I'd gaze upon those ancient trees,
Round that sweet rural home.