Forget Me Not/1824/Stanzas (Barton)

STANZAS;

BY

BERNARD BARTON.


There is beauty on the mountain,
In the morning's early gleam;
There is beauty the fountain,
By the moonlight's silv'ry beam;

But more beautiful the splendour
Of thy smile, Love, when we meet;
And that dewy eye more tender,
Which can make e'en parting sweet.

There is music in the measure
Of the soaring sky-lark's lay,
When he hails with eager pleasure
The rising orb of day;—

There is melody enchanting
In sweet Philomela's voice,
When she, with music panting,
Bids drowsy night rejoic;—

But mine ear would rather listen
To the human voice benign;
And mine eye would soonest glisten,
When that voice belov'd is Thine!

It is something left to cheer me,
While a pilgrim here below,
To believe thy love is near me,
In each conflict I may know.

But a purer thought is blended
With each feeling turn'd to thee;
And a hope afar extended,
Thy affection lends to me:

'Tis the thought which will not perish,
Of far more than earth can yield;
'Tis the hope faith loves to cherish
Of enjoyments unreveal'd!