The hills of Camden mile on mile
Fling their green mantle o'er the bay;
The dark waves dance about the isle
Where we have nested many a day.
The shadows mount; the air is chill;
Away!
The hermit thrush has left the bed
Where late his giddy music shone,
The sumac in the swamp is red,
And Autumn binds her sandals on.
The season wanes; summer's at end.
Away!
