Classic Poem

O, pure is the wind,
As it blows o'er the mountain;
And clear is the wave,
As it flows from the fountain;
And sweet are the flowers
In the green meadow blooming;
And gay are the bowers,
When the soft air perfuming.
O go, dearest, go
To the heath, and the mountain,
Where the blue violets blow
On the brink of the fountain;
Where nothing but death
Our affection can sever,
And till life's latest breath
Love shall bind us for ever.

O, bright is the morn,
When it breaks on the valley;
And shrill is the horn,
When the wild huntsmen sally;
And clear shines the dew,
As the hounds hurry o'er it;
And light blows the wind,
As the sail flies before it.
O go, dearest, go, &c.

O, soft is the mist,
When it curls round the island;
And dark is the cloud,
As it hangs on the highland;
And sweet chimes the rill,
O'er the white pebble flowing;
And quick glides the boat,
O'er the smooth water rowing.
O go, dearest, go, &c.

O, fleet is the deer
Through the blue heather springing,
And loud is the shout
Through the wild valley ringing;
And soft is the flute,
O'er the lake faintly sighing,
When the wide air is mute,
And the night-wind is dying.
O go, dearest, go, &c.

O go, dearest, go
To the heath and the mountain;
Where the heart shall be pure,
As the clear-flowing fountain;
Where the soul shall be free,
As the winds that blow o'er us,
And the sunset of life
Smile in beauty before us.
O, go, dearest, go
To the heath, and the mountain,
Where the blue violets blow
On the brink of the fountain;
Where nothing but death
Our affection can sever,
And till life's latest breath
Love shall bind us for ever.