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One morning in the month of May
I wandered o'er the hill; Though nature all around was gay,
My heart was heavy still.
Can God, I thought, the just, the great,
And yet deny to man's estate
Tellme, ye woods, ye smiling plains,
Ye blessed birds around,
Can bliss for man be found.
The birds wild carolled over head,
And nature's awful chorus said—
I questioned love, whose early ray,
So rosy bright appears,
His light was dimmed by tears.
I questioned friendship: Friendship sighed,
I asked if vice could bliss bestow?
Vice boasted loud and well,
The borrowed roses fell.
;ht of feeling, if her skill
I questioned virtue; virtue sighed,
Nor virtue was her name, she cried,
I questioned death—the grisly shade
THE MOONLIGHT MARCH.
I see them on their winding way,
Again, again the pealing drum,
The clashing horn—they come, they come;
Through rocky pass, o'er wooded steep,
In long and glittering files they sweep.
And nearer, nearer, yet more near,
Their softened chorus meets the ear;
Forth, forth, and meet them on their way;
The trampling hoofs brook no delay;
With thrilling fife and pealing drum,
And clashing horn, they come, they come.
Reflected on the lake I love
So tranquil in the heavens above,
Thus heavenly hope is all serene,
Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene,
When eyes are beaming What never tongue might tell;
When tears are streaming
When hands are linked that dread to part,
And heart is met by throbbing heart,
O, bitter, bitter is the smart
When hope is chidden
That fain of bliss would tell,
In the breast to dwell;
Of them that bid farewell.