Deep within a mountain forest
Breezes soft are whispering
Through the dark-robed firs and hemlocks,
Over Dollie’s Spring.
Swiftly glides the tiny streamlet,
While its laughing waters sing
Sweetest song in all the woodland,
“I—am—Dollie’s—Spring!”
In the dim wood’s noontide shadow
Nod the ferns, and glistening
With a thousand diamond dew-drops,
Bend o’er Dollie’s Spring.
Shyly on its mossy border
Blue-eyed Dollie, lingering,
Views the sweet face in the crystal
Depths of Dollie’s Spring.
Years shall come and go, and surely
To the little maiden bring
Trials sore and joys uncounted,
While, by Dollie’s Spring,
Still the firs shall lift their crosses
Heavenward, softly murmuring
Prayers for her, where’er she wander,—
Far from Dollie’s Spring.