Her artless dalliance and grace-- The joy that lighted up her brow-- The sweet expression of her face-- Her form--it stands before me now! And I can fancy that I hear The woodland songs she used to sing, Which stole to my attending ear, Like the first harbingers of spring. The beauty of the earth was hers, And hers the purity of heaven; Alone, of all her worshippers, To me her maiden vows were given. They little know the human heart, Who think such love with time expires; Once kindled, it will ne'er depart, But burn through life with all its fires. We parted--doomed no more to meet-- The blow fell with a stunning power-- And yet my pulse will strangely beat At the remembrance of that hour! But time and change their healing brought, And years have passed in seeming glee, But still alone of her I've thought Who's now a memory to me. There may be many who will deem This strain a wayward, youthful folly, To be derided as a dream Born of the poet's melancholy. The wealth of worlds, if it were mine, With all that follows in its train, I would with gratitude resign, To dream that dream of love again. I'm With You Once Again. I'm with you once again, my friends, No more my footsteps roam; Where it began my journey ends, Amid the scenes of home. No other clime has skies so blue, Or streams so broad and clear, And where are hearts so warm and true As those that meet me here? Since last with spirits, wild and free, I pressed my native strand, I've wandered many miles at sea, And many miles on land. I've seen fair realms of the earth By rude commotion torn, Which taught me how to prize the worth Of that where I was born. In other countries, when I heard The language of my own, How fondly each familiar word Awoke an answering tone! But when our woodland songs were sung Upon a foreign mart, The vows that faltered on the tongue With rapture thrilled the heart! My native land, I turn to you, With blessing and with prayer, Where man is brave and woman true, And free as mountain air. Long may our flag in triumph wave Against the world combined, And friends a welcome--foes a grave, Within our borders find. Oh, Would that She were Here! Oh, would that she were here, These hills and dales among, Where vocal groves are gayly mocked By Echo's airy tongue: Where jocund nature smiles In all her boon attire, And roams the deeply-tangled wilds Of hawthorn and sweet-brier. Oh, would that she were here-- The gentle maid I sing, Whose voice is cheerful as the songs Of forest-birds in spring! Oh, would that she were here, Where the free waters leap, Shouting in sportive joyousness Adown the rocky steep: Where zephyrs crisp and cool The fountains as they play, With health upon their wings of light, And gladness on their way. Oh, would that she were here, With these balm-breathing trees, The sylvan daughters of the sun, The rain-cloud, and the breeze!