( " Viens! une flute. " )

Come, O come! an unseen flute
'Mid the orchard-bowers is sighing! —
Ah! the song that makes most mute
Is the shepherd-song soft-dying.

Breezes, 'neath the elm vine-clad
Gently fret the river-shadows. —
Ah! the song that makes most glad
Is the bird-song from the meadows.

Be no care in thy bright breast.
Let us love! Ay, love for ever! —
Ah! the song the loveliest
Is the love-song silenced never.