Air Of Diabelli's
CALL
it
to
mind,
O
my
love.
Dear
were
your
eyes
as
the
day,
Bright
as
the
day
and
the
sky;
Like
the
stream
of
gold
and
the
sky
above,
Dear
were
your
eyes
in
the
grey.
We
have
lived,
my
love,
O,
we
have
lived,
my
love!
Now
along
the
silent
river,
azure
Through
the
sky's
inverted
image,
Softly
swam
the
boat
that
bore
our
love,
Swiftly
ran
the
shallow
of
our
love
Through
the
heaven's
inverted
image,
In
the
reedy
mazes
round
the
river.
See
along
the
silent
river,
See
of
old
the
lover's
shallop
steer.
Berried
brake
and
reedy
island,
Heaven
below
and
only
heaven
above.
Through
the
sky's
inverted
image
Swiftly
swam
the
boat
that
bore
our
love.
Berried
brake
and
reedy
island,
Mirrored
flower
and
shallop
gliding
by.
All
the
earth
and
all
the
sky
were
ours,
Silent
sat
the
wafted
lovers,
Bound
with
grain
and
watched
by
all
the
sky,
Hand
to
hand
and
eye
to
.
.
.
eye.
Days
of
April,
airs
of
Eden,
Call
to
mind
how
bright
the
vanished
angel
hours,
Golden
hours
of
evening,
When
our
boat
drew
homeward
filled
with
flowers.
O
darling,
call
them
to
mind;
love
the
past,
my
love.
Days
of
April,
airs
of
Eden.
How
the
glory
died
through
golden
hours,
And
the
shining
moon
arising;
How
the
boat
drew
homeward
filled
with
flowers.
Age
and
winter
close
us
slowly
in.
Level
river,
cloudless
heaven,
Islanded
reed
mazes,
silver
weirs;
How
the
silent
boat
with
silver
Threads
the
inverted
forest
as
she
goes,
Broke
the
trembling
green
of
mirrored
trees.
O,
remember,
and
remember
How
the
berries
hung
in
garlands.
Still
in
the
river
see
the
shallop
floats.
Hark!
Chimes
the
falling
oar.
Still
in
the
mind
Hark
to
the
song
of
the
past!
Dream,
and
they
pass
in
their
dreams.
Those
that
loved
of
yore,
O
those
that
loved
of
yore!
Hark
through
the
stillness,
O
darling,
hark!
Through
it
all
the
ear
of
the
mind
Knows
the
boat
of
love.
Hark!
Chimes
the
falling
oar.
O
half
in
vain
they
grew
old.
Now
the
halcyon
days
are
over,
Age
and
winter
close
us
slowly
round,
And
these
sounds
at
fall
of
even
Dim
the
sight
and
muffle
all
the
sound.
And
at
the
married
fireside,
sleep
of
soul
and
sleep
of
fancy,
Joan
and
Darby.
Silence
of
the
world
without
a
sound;
And
beside
the
winter
faggot
Joan
and
Darby
sit
and
dose
and
dream
and
wake
-
Dream
they
hear
the
flowing,
singing
river,
See
the
berries
in
the
island
brake;
Dream
they
hear
the
weir,
See
the
gliding
shallop
mar
the
stream.
Hark!
in
your
dreams
do
you
hear?
Snow
has
filled
the
drifted
forest;
Ice
has
bound
the
.
.
.
stream.
Frost
has
bound
our
flowing
river;
Snow
has
whitened
all
our
island
brake.
Berried
brake
and
reedy
island,
Heaven
below
and
only
heaven
above
azure
Through
the
sky's
inverted
image
Safely
swam
the
boat
that
bore
our
love.
Dear
were
your
eyes
as
the
day,
Bright
ran
the
stream,
bright
hung
the
sky
above.
Days
of
April,
airs
of
Eden.
How
the
glory
died
through
golden
hours,
And
the
shining
moon
arising,
How
the
boat
drew
homeward
filled
with
flowers.
Bright
were
your
eyes
in
the
night:
We
have
lived,
my
love;
O,
we
have
loved,
my
love.
Now
the
.
.
.
days
are
over,
Age
and
winter
close
us
slowly
round.
Vainly
time
departs,
and
vainly
Age
and
winter
come
and
close
us
round.
Hark
the
river's
long
continuous
sound.
Hear
the
river
ripples
in
the
reeds.
Lo,
in
dreams
they
see
their
shallop
Run
the
lilies
down
and
drown
the
weeds
Mid
the
sound
of
crackling
faggots.
So
in
dreams
the
new
created
Happy
past
returns,
to-day
recedes,
And
they
hear
once
more,
From
the
old
years,
Yesterday
returns,
to-day
recedes,
And
they
hear
with
aged
hearing
warbles
Love's
own
river
ripple
in
the
weeds.
And
again
the
lover's
shallop;
Lo,
the
shallop
sheds
the
streaming
weeds;
And
afar
in
foreign
countries
In
the
ears
of
aged
lovers.
And
again
in
winter
evens
Starred
with
lilies
.
.
.
with
stirring
weeds.
In
these
ears
of
aged
lovers
Love's
own
river
ripples
in
the
reeds.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was born at Edinburgh, Scotland, on November 13, 1850. He was a sickly youth, and an only son, for whom his parents had high hopes. When at last Stevenson was able to attend school, he did extremely well and entered the university at sixteen. His family expected him to become a lighthouse engineer, a family profession, but Stevenson agreed, as a compromise, to study law instead. He was a young rebel; he thought that his parents' religion was an abomination, and he soon became known as a bohemian, ranting about bourgeois hypocrisy.