A HILL SONG.

Hills where once my love and I

Let the hours go laughing by!

All your woods and dales are sad,—

You have lost your Oread.

Falling leaves! Silent woodlands!

Half your loveliness is fled.

Golden-rod, wither now!

Winter winds, come hither now!

All the summer joy is dead.

There's a sense of something gone

In the grass I linger on.

There's an under-voice that grieves

In the rustling of the leaves.

Pine-clad peaks! Rushing waters!

Glens where we were once so glad!

There's a light passed from you,

There's a joy outcast from you,—

You have lost your Oread.