Here is the glen, and here the bower All underneath the birchen shade; The village-bell has told the hour, O what can stay my lovely maid? 'Tis not Maria's whispering call; 'Tis but the balmy breathing gale, Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail. It is Maria's voice I hear; So calls the woodlark in the grove, His little, faithful mate to cheer; At once 'tis music and 'tis love. And art thou come! and art thou true! O welcome dear to love and me! And let us all our vows renew, Along the flowery banks of Cree. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PROGRESS OF POETRY; A VARIATION by MATTHEW ARNOLD CHARLIE MACHREE by WILLIAM JAMES HOPPIN ON A MAGAZINE SONNET by RUSSELL HILLARD LOINES THE SONG OF THE COSSACK by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER THE HAUNTED HOUSE by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |