Phenix Gazette

ALEXANDRIA GAZETTE
THE HUNTER'S SERENADE.
The bower is finished, fairest!
Fit bower for hunter's bride—
Where old woods overshadow
The green savannah's side.
I've wandered long and wandered far,
And never have I met,
In all this lovely western land,
A spot so lovely yet.
But I shall think it fairest
When thou art come to bless
With thy sweet eyes and silver voice,
Its silent loveliness.
For thee the wild grape glistens
On sunny knell and tree,
And stoops the slim papaw
With yellow fruit for thee;
For thee the duck on glassy stream,
The prairie fowl shall die;
My rifle for thy feast shall bring
The wild swan from the sky:
The forest's panther, fierce,
Beautiful, and fleet,
Shall yield his spotted hide to be
A carpet for thy feet.
I know, for thou hast told me,
Thy maiden love of flowers:
Ah! those that deck thy gardens
Are pale compared with ours;
When our wide woods and mighty lawns
Bloom to the April skies.
The earth has no more gorgeous sight
To show the human eyes.
In meadows red with blossoms,
All summer long, the bee
Murmurs and loads his yellow thighs
For thee, my love, and me.
Or, would'st thou gaze at tokens
Of ages long ago?
Our old oak stream with mosses,
And sprout with mistletoe:
And mighty vines, like serpents, climb
The giant sycamore;
And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries,
Cumber the forest floor;
And in the great Savannah,
The solitary mound,
Built by the elder world, o'erlooks
The loneliness around.
Come, thou hast not forgotten
Thy pledge and promise quite,
With many blushes murmured,
Beneath the evening light.
Come, the young violets crowd my door,
Thy earliest look to win,
And at my silent window still
The jessamine peeps in;
All day the redbreast warbles
Upon the mulberry near,
And the night-sparrow trolls her song
All night, with none to hear.