Oh, Would that She were Here!

Oh, would that she were here,      These hills and dales among,     Where vocal groves are gayly mocked      By Echo's airy tongue:     Where jocund nature smiles      In all her boon attire,     And roams the deeply-tangled wilds      Of hawthorn and sweet-brier.     Oh, would that she were here--      The gentle maid I sing,     Whose voice is cheerful as the songs      Of forest-birds in spring!     Oh, would that she were here,      Where the free waters leap,     Shouting in sportive joyousness      Adown the rocky steep:     Where zephyrs crisp and cool      The fountains as they play,     With health upon their wings of light,      And gladness on their way.     Oh, would that she were here,      With these balm-breathing trees,     The sylvan daughters of the sun,      The rain-cloud, and the breeze!     Oh, would that she were here,      Where glide the rosy hours,     Murm'ring the drowsy hum of bees,      And fragrant with the flowers:     Where Heaven's redeeming love      Spans earth in Mercy's bow--     The promise of the world above      Unto the world below.     Oh, would that she were here,      Amid these shades serene--     Oh, for the spell of woman's love,      To consecrate the scene!