  A SONG. When the low, sweet winds of summer Play among the wildwood trees, And the waves of ocean murmur, And the flow’rets ope their leaves; In the evening’s dewy hours, At the twilight’s dreamy ray, In the morning’s balmy bowers, All the long, fair summer’s day. Chorus. Shall we never hear thy gentle voice at evening? We’ve been pining for thee, Allie, all the day; And our sad hearts o’er the lonely seas are gliding, Seeking vainly where our darling’s footsteps stray. We have missed thee, ever missed thee, With thy sweet and tender smile, And thy bright and glowing beauty— Nature’s pure and winning guile; And thy voice’s glorious music We, alas, do hear no more In the vale where Allie wandered In the dear old times of yore. When the golden sun his splendor Pours along the summer sea, And the southern winds are dying, Allie dear, come back to me. We are weary and so lonely; Ah, this life seems but in vain Since our Allie hath departed— Dearest one, return again. |
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