WHEN WILT THOU RETURN?

When wilt thou return?

The silver clouds are closing

Like billows o'er the fairy path

Of sunset there reposing;

The sapphire fields of heaven,

With its golden splendour burn,

And purple is the mountain peak,--

But when wilt thou return?

When wilt thou return?

The woods are bright with summer,

And the violet's bower is grac'd

With the rose--a queenly comer;

The stars, that in the air

Like ethereal spirits burn,

Seem watching for thy steps,--

Oh I when wilt thou return?

When wilt thou return?

The sheathless sword is idle,

And each warrior from his steed

Has thrown aside the bridle.

Hark!--'tis the trumpet's call!

With hope our bosoms burn;

Its echo wakes the distant hills,

Announcing thy return!