Sir Walter Scott

Here you will find the Poem Saint Cloud of poet Sir Walter Scott

Saint Cloud

Soft spread the southern sumer night
Her veil of darksome blue; 
Ten thousand stars combined to light 
The terrace of Saint Cloud.

The evening breezes gently sigh'd,
Like breath of lover true,
Bewailing the deserted pride
And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud.

The drum's deep roll was heard afar, 
The bugle wildly blew 
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar 
That garrison Saint Cloud.

The startled Naiads from the shade 
With broken urns withdrew 
And silenced was that proud cascade, 
The glory of Saint Cloud.

We sate upon its steps of stone, 
Nor could its silence rue 
When waked, to music of our own, 
The echoes of Saint Cloud.

Slow Seine might hear each lovely note 
Fall light as summer dew 
While through the moonless air they float 
Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud.

And sure a melody more sweet 
His waters never knew, 
Though music's self was wont to meet 
With Princes at Saint Cloud.

Nor then, with more delighted ear, 
The circle round her drew, 
Than ours, when gather'd round to hear 
Our songstress at Saint Cloud.

Few happy hours poor mortals pass-â?? 
Then give those hours their due, 
And rank among the foremost class 
Our evenings at Saint Cloud.