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Softly blows the western breeze
Among the tops of lofty trees;
Though on the ground you scarcely feel
An air of summer passing steal;

It bears a balm,

The soul to calm;

And soothes the mind,

Wafting care behind.

Sitting amidst cooling bowers,
Nature spreads her moss and flowers;
Or reposing on the ground,
Scents are wafted all around.

A sweet perfume,

O'er heath and broom;

Borne along for miles,

Every sense beguiles.

Sitting there alone with thought,
A vision on my senses wrought,
Of a bank with roses piled,
Where Eva sat, and Eva smiled.

A smile on me,

Oh! might it be,

A smile of love,

Like a ray from above.


At noon I wander forth alone,

Once more to St. John's Wood am I gone.

Annie and Eva on the lawn,

But gentle Annie's thoughts are where

Alfred is sitting under a tree

[The girls left him to welcome me];

A smile is flung towards him there.

Eva I ask to take a stroll,
Being with the idea impressed
That Annie, perhaps, would be glad.
And I own what I saw forbade
My stay, even at Annie's request.

So Eva took my arm;

Around the garden walk,

Conversing in gentlest strains,

Of summer's golden rains,

Or plucking a flower from its stalk.

But my spirit, free as air,
Lingered round the other pair.


Some words like these in Eva's ear
I let fall, in passing by;
Sometimes she answered not, but oft
The answer came in gentlest sigh.

How lovely is an English June!
How green the lawns, how fresh the grass!
How soft and velvety the turf,
Beneath our footsteps as we pass!

Eva, how I wish that we
Could always thus together be!

Not for me' is joy in June,
Scarce for me the trees, the grass,
Bloom so green, or feel so soft;
Scarce for me do seasons pass.

Wild and restless is my fate,
Wayward early, wayward late.

Wandering many a weary mile,
When the glaring sun is high;
Walking over dusty roads,
To catch a glimpse of a beauteous eye.

Yet, Eva, think not hard of me,

Nor name me fool for thoughts of thee.


Hush, Eva! was not that a sigh,
From Annie's bosom, as we passed by i

Some one on his knees,
On the flowering ground;

Some one's flowing curls,
Streaming wild around.

Some one urging hopes,

Vowing tender loves;
Answering whispers low,

Like cooing turtle doves.

Hush! a manly voice
Pleads in woman's tones;

She has made her choice,
Now the choice she owns.

Some one's little hand

With kisses quite subdued;

Some one archly smiles,
"Alfred, dear, how rude!"

Some one asking only

For a maiden's heart; Some one's gentle answers,

Pleasing hopes impart.

Somebody whispers, " No!"

Then she sighs a "Yes!" Some one gives a kiss,

You the rest can guess.

Some one told the news

In the robin's nest; For I heard it first

From the gay redbreast.

Some one told the news

Just now to the lark; For he sang it out

Yonder in the park.

Some one must have told

To the young cuckoo; For he left his note,

Annie, to sing of you.

Some one must have been

To tell every bird; For, as we strolled along,

No other song was heard.

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