Chapter LXI

The same dear sun was shining yet,
Whose setting sheen, I’ll near forget,
When oft at eve, the hills among,
O’er the deep West I saw him hung,
Till stretch’d the woodland shadows brown,
And bright apparell’d, he went down.
’Twas sweet to think, so far away,
Of youth and its romantic day,
Of blue Owasco, and my joy
To frolic there, a sailor-boy,
Till sunlight went, and many a tune
Beguil’d my voyage beneath the moon;
Of all the mountain streams, and groves,
That yet my memory keeps and loves,
That dearer, brighter, lovelier, were
To me, star-wandering voyager,
For memories, golden as the day,
Of morn, or evening’s lingering ray.