Purple glow the forest mountains

Purple glow the forest mountains

In the sun's departing beam,

Lovely shines the star of even,

Mirror'd in the crystal stream.

Dark as in sepulchral chambers

Low'rs the gloomy poplar grove;

Nought but gentlywhisp'ring branches

There is heard or seen to move;

Save where Philomela singing

Softly from a greenwood tree,

To the dewbespangled roses,

Pours her lovelorn melody.

Soon, perhaps, on such an evening,

I shall hear thy voice resound,

Sadly singing to the roses,

Which my early grave surround.

Then my soul shall listen to thy numbers,

Listen as it listens now,

While the breezes waft thy music

O'er the flow'ry mountain's brow.