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Where mingling leaves and blossoms wave around,And fairy streamlets, murmuring, join the soundOf mirth and music, as they loudly float,Wak'ning on hill and dale the echo's mimic note.But who is she, that, brighter than the day,Moves with superior grace the dance along—The loves and graces in her dark eyes play,Her breath is fragrance, and her voice is song;Though youth, and rank, and beauty too, are there,Dim are their beams beside Livonia's star—;Where smiles Lord Norman's daughter, who seems fair?She, fairest of the fair, surpassing far!Bright sparkled Albert's dark-blue eye,—Yet seem'd his bosom lab'ring with a sigh;And while from a menial's hand he tookA golden cup, his own convulsive shook;Yet, turning to his bride, with smiling airHe bow'd, and to his lips the goblet rais'd—"This is to thee!" he cried———a stranger fairHis view that moment caught, as on his face she gaz'd.
Amid the gay and festive bandHer fairy form was seen to stand,A wildness in her hasty glanceThat spoke the soul in mournful trance;Pale, 'mid the giddy sons of mirth,She look'd not like a thing of earth!The wildness in her azure eyeQuench'd not its beauty-beaming lustre;And the quick throb, and frequent sigh,Heav'd her modest bosom highRound which her fair long tresses cluster,
