THE WATERS OF CARR
O DO you hear the merry waters falling,In the mossy woods of Carr?O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,Through its cloistral deeps afar?'Tis the Indian's babe, they say,Fairy stolen; changed a fay;And still I hear her, calling, calling, calling,In the mossy woods of Carr!O hear you, when the weary world is sleeping(Dim and drowsy every star),This little one her happy revels keepingIn her halls of shining spar?Clearer swells her voice of glee,While the liquid echoes flee,And the full moon through deep green leaves comes peeping,In the dim-lit woods of Carr.Know ye from her wigwam how they drew her,Wanton-willing, far away,—Made the wild-wood halls seem home unto her,Changed her to a laughing fay?Never doth her bosom burn,Never asks she to return;—Ah, vainly care and sorrow may pursue herLaughing, singing, all the day!And often, when the golden west is burning,Ere the twilight's earliest star,Comes her mother, led by mortal yearningWhere the haunted forests are;—Listens to the rapture wildOf her vanished fairy child:Ah, see her then, with smiles and tears, returningFrom the sunset woods of Carr!They feed her with the amber dew and honey,They bathe her in the crystal spring,They set her down in open spaces sunny,And weave her an enchanted ring;They will not let her beauty die,Her innocence and purity;They sweeten her fair brow with kisses many,And ever round her dance and sing.O do you hear the merry waters falling,In the mossy woods of Carr?O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,Through its cloistral deeps afar?Never thrill of plaintive painMingles with that ceaseless strain;—But still I hear her joyous calling, calling,In the morning woods of Carr!
O DO you hear the merry waters falling,In the mossy woods of Carr?O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,Through its cloistral deeps afar?'Tis the Indian's babe, they say,Fairy stolen; changed a fay;And still I hear her, calling, calling, calling,In the mossy woods of Carr!O hear you, when the weary world is sleeping(Dim and drowsy every star),This little one her happy revels keepingIn her halls of shining spar?Clearer swells her voice of glee,While the liquid echoes flee,And the full moon through deep green leaves comes peeping,In the dim-lit woods of Carr.Know ye from her wigwam how they drew her,Wanton-willing, far away,—Made the wild-wood halls seem home unto her,Changed her to a laughing fay?Never doth her bosom burn,Never asks she to return;—Ah, vainly care and sorrow may pursue herLaughing, singing, all the day!And often, when the golden west is burning,Ere the twilight's earliest star,Comes her mother, led by mortal yearningWhere the haunted forests are;—Listens to the rapture wildOf her vanished fairy child:Ah, see her then, with smiles and tears, returningFrom the sunset woods of Carr!They feed her with the amber dew and honey,They bathe her in the crystal spring,They set her down in open spaces sunny,And weave her an enchanted ring;They will not let her beauty die,Her innocence and purity;They sweeten her fair brow with kisses many,And ever round her dance and sing.O do you hear the merry waters falling,In the mossy woods of Carr?O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,Through its cloistral deeps afar?Never thrill of plaintive painMingles with that ceaseless strain;—But still I hear her joyous calling, calling,In the morning woods of Carr!
O DO you hear the merry waters falling,In the mossy woods of Carr?O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,Through its cloistral deeps afar?'Tis the Indian's babe, they say,Fairy stolen; changed a fay;And still I hear her, calling, calling, calling,In the mossy woods of Carr!
O DO you hear the merry waters falling,
In the mossy woods of Carr?
O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,
Through its cloistral deeps afar?
'Tis the Indian's babe, they say,
Fairy stolen; changed a fay;
And still I hear her, calling, calling, calling,
In the mossy woods of Carr!
O hear you, when the weary world is sleeping(Dim and drowsy every star),This little one her happy revels keepingIn her halls of shining spar?Clearer swells her voice of glee,While the liquid echoes flee,And the full moon through deep green leaves comes peeping,In the dim-lit woods of Carr.
O hear you, when the weary world is sleeping
(Dim and drowsy every star),
This little one her happy revels keeping
In her halls of shining spar?
Clearer swells her voice of glee,
While the liquid echoes flee,
And the full moon through deep green leaves comes peeping,
In the dim-lit woods of Carr.
Know ye from her wigwam how they drew her,Wanton-willing, far away,—Made the wild-wood halls seem home unto her,Changed her to a laughing fay?Never doth her bosom burn,Never asks she to return;—Ah, vainly care and sorrow may pursue herLaughing, singing, all the day!
Know ye from her wigwam how they drew her,
Wanton-willing, far away,—
Made the wild-wood halls seem home unto her,
Changed her to a laughing fay?
Never doth her bosom burn,
Never asks she to return;—
Ah, vainly care and sorrow may pursue her
Laughing, singing, all the day!
And often, when the golden west is burning,Ere the twilight's earliest star,Comes her mother, led by mortal yearningWhere the haunted forests are;—Listens to the rapture wildOf her vanished fairy child:Ah, see her then, with smiles and tears, returningFrom the sunset woods of Carr!
And often, when the golden west is burning,
Ere the twilight's earliest star,
Comes her mother, led by mortal yearning
Where the haunted forests are;—
Listens to the rapture wild
Of her vanished fairy child:
Ah, see her then, with smiles and tears, returning
From the sunset woods of Carr!
They feed her with the amber dew and honey,They bathe her in the crystal spring,They set her down in open spaces sunny,And weave her an enchanted ring;They will not let her beauty die,Her innocence and purity;They sweeten her fair brow with kisses many,And ever round her dance and sing.
They feed her with the amber dew and honey,
They bathe her in the crystal spring,
They set her down in open spaces sunny,
And weave her an enchanted ring;
They will not let her beauty die,
Her innocence and purity;
They sweeten her fair brow with kisses many,
And ever round her dance and sing.
O do you hear the merry waters falling,In the mossy woods of Carr?O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,Through its cloistral deeps afar?Never thrill of plaintive painMingles with that ceaseless strain;—But still I hear her joyous calling, calling,In the morning woods of Carr!
O do you hear the merry waters falling,
In the mossy woods of Carr?
O do you hear the child's voice, calling, calling,
Through its cloistral deeps afar?
Never thrill of plaintive pain
Mingles with that ceaseless strain;—
But still I hear her joyous calling, calling,
In the morning woods of Carr!