Volume 2 — THE BIRD’S ADIEU!

Farewell to the meadow, For summer is past; Farewell, for its leaves Now whirl o’er the blast. Farewell to the bough Where my cradle was swung, And the song of my mother Was joyously sung. 2 How sweet was that song Of the light-hearted bird; No other I’ll sing— ’Twas the first that I heard. And though to far lands I must hasten away, Wherever I roam, I will carry that lay. 3 How sweet are these scenes, For my birth-place is here; And I know that in absence, They’ll be but more dear. I’ll sing of them there, In the land where I roam, And, winter departed, I’ll return to my home.