Medora's Song

Ah! let me rest thus at thy side,As I was wont of yore,And touch my Lyre, whose every chordIs filled with love's sweet lore;

And clasp thine hand within mine own—The hand I love to press,And feel thou hast returned to me,In all thy faithfulness.

'Twas sad to raise my eyes alone,Unanswered by thine own,To listen until sinking hopeHad lost thy faintest tone.

To feel the magic of thy voiceBut come to me in dreams,As rest the shadows of sweet flowersUpon the moon-lit streams.

That pleasant voice that speaks to meOf passion's fervent hour;Hours which o'er life's worst darkness flingAffection's soothing power.

As morning hues upon the seaSeem blended with the sky,From which it borrows all the tintsThat on its calm waves lie.

So blended seems my soul with thine,So borrow I sweet thought,In gazing on those deep-soul'd eyes,So with love's mysteries fraught.

Then let me rest thus by thy side,And feel that thou art near,For never, till we parted, love,Knew I thou wert so dear.