Dost thou not hear her soft guitar,
And softer voice, the echoes swelling? Dost thou not mark yon guiding star,
Whose rays are beaming o'er her dwelling?
Он! fly to the prairie, sweet maiden, with me,
'Tis as green and as wild and as wide as the sea,
O'er its soft silken bosom the summer winds glide,
And wave the wild grass in its billowy pride;
The fawns in the meadow fields fearlessly play,-
Away to the chase, lovely maiden, away.
Bound, bound to thy courser, the bison is near,
And list to the tramp of the light-footed deer.
The woodsman delights in his trees and his shade,
But see! there's no sun on the cheek of his maid;
His flowers are blighted, his blossoms look pale,
And mildew is riding his vaporous gale.
Hurrah for the prairie ! no blight on its breeze,
No mist from the mountains, no shadow from trees,
It steals incense loaded that gale from the west,
As bees from the prairie-rose fly to the nest.
Oh! fly to the prairie, sweet maiden, with me,
The vine and the prairie-rose cluster for thee,
And hailing the moon in the prairie-propt sky,
The mocking-bird echoes the katydid's cry.
Oh! there's nothing to cloy in the wilds of the west,
Each day has its pleasure, each evening its rest:
Then fly to the prairie, sweet maiden, with me,
"Tis as green and as wild and as wide as the sea.
THE SICILIAN CRUSADER'S RETURN.
AWAKE, awake, my own true love!
My lady bright, arise!
The sparkling orbs that roll above
Shall veil their light, afraid to prove
The lustre of thine eyes.
The air is bland, the eastern breeze,
O'er ocean's heaving bosom stealing,
Derives fresh fragrance from the trees
Of verdant isles that gem the seas,
Their spicy odours all revealing.
When sleep prevails thine eyelids o'er,
Dost ever dream of me?
Amidst the loud artillery's roar,
The savage voice of stormy war,
I ever thought on thee.
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou persue
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