A Song Of Savoy

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; 'Twere better ne'er to love at all, Than love, and then forget! Why comes he not? Alas! I should Reclaim him still, if weeping could. But see - he leaves the glade, And beckons me away: He comes to seek his mountain maid! I cannot chide his stay. Glad sounds along the valley swell, And voices hail the evening-bell.