Forget Me Not/1824/Stanzas (Barton)

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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 splendourOf thy smile, Love, when we meet;And that dewy eye more tender,Which can make e'en parting sweet.
There is music in the measureOf the soaring sky-lark's lay,When he hails with eager pleasureThe rising orb of day;—
There is melody enchantingIn sweet Philomela's voice,When she, with music panting,Bids drowsy night rejoic;—
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But mine ear would rather listenTo 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 blendedWith 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 cherishOf enjoyments unreveal'd!
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