Over the seas together, you and I,
'Neath blue Italian skies, or on the hills
Of storied Greece,--where the warm sunlight fills
Spain's mellow vineyards,--wandering reverently
O'er the green plains of Palestine,--our days
A golden holiday in Old World ways.
Yet would we linger not by southern shores;
The bracing breath of Scandinavian snows
Would draw us from our dreams. The North wind blows
Upon thy cheek, my Norseman, and the roars
Of the wild Baltic sound within my ears
When to my dreams thy stalwart form appears.
This will the future bring. See! Thou hast given
From out the fulness of thy strength and will
This courage to me. Though the rugged hill
Looms high, and fronts our vision, yet our heaven
(I see it when I sleep) with portals wide
And shining towers, gleams on the farther side.
Song.
"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
Where the elms stir,
Flaunting her gourd-like nest
On the tree's swaying crest:
"May's here, I cannot rest,
Go away; tshirr!"
"Tshirr!" scolds the oriole
Where the leaves blur,
Giving her threads a jerk,
Spying where rivals lurk,
"May's here, and I'm at work.
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