When stars begin to steal in sight
Above the moorland hill;
When dreamy dusk leads on the night,
And all the world grows still;
When dewy pearls on every blade
Light up the twinkling lea,
I hail the soft, sweet hour of shade,
That brings my love to me.

In pensive dreams I rove alone
Where gardens scent the air;
But my fancy's on the mountains lone,
And all my heart is there;
Rich groves, and posied fields may charm
The thoughtless and the free,
But my flower of love grows in the wild,
And there I fain would be.

I see him springing down the steep,
And singing as he comes;
I see his form in manly sweep,
Bound o'er the heather-blooms!
I see, I see his glowing eyes,
That burn with loving glee!
He comes! My own dear moorland lad!
I know he comes to me!

Of all the hours that, night and day,
In ceaseless circles run,
Give me the hour whose shadows grey
Pursue the setting sun;
It brings the dreamy time of rest
That sets the prisoner free;
It brings the wild bird to its nest;
It brings my love to me!

Bright star, that leads the glorious thron;
That gem the midnight sky,
When the noisy world has hushed its song,
And laid its business by;
The kindly heavens have filled thy light
With love's enchanting thrill;
Shine sweetly when my bonny lad
Comes lilting down the hill!