Allen Ansell

As the dim twilight shrouds
The mountain's purple crest,
And Summer's white and folded clouds
Are glowing in the west,
Loud shouts come up the rocky dell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.

Faint is the goatherd's song,
And sighing comes the breeze;
The silent river sweeps along
Amid its bending trees -
And the full moon shines faintly there,
And music fills the evening air.

Beneath the waving firs
The tinkling cymbals sound;
And as the wind the foliage stirs,
I see the dancers bound
Where the green branches, arched above,
Bend over this fair scene of love.

And he is there, that sought
My young heart long ago!
But he has left me - though I thought
He ne'er could leave me so.
Ah! lover's vows - how frail are they!
And his - were made but yesterday.

Why comes he not? I call
In tears upon him yet;

...