THE SONG-LAND.
O lovely and ideal realm of thought!O land of poet-dreams! how soft the airsThat o'er thy valleys and thy mountains blow!And bright thy bow'rs and fountains sparkling clear,And flow'rs of brilliant hues bedeck thee o'er.A noble being over thee presides:The goddess fair of mountain, vale, and fount.Majestic, and yet gentle, is her mien.A diadem of light rests on her brow,And golden sunbeams gleam amid her hair,And all her soul doth speak its language clearFrom out the glances of her beaming eye.The sweet inspirer of high thought is she,And Inspiration is the goddess' name.
O lovely and entrancing land of song!So sacred unto all that's pure and bright,The lights and shadows that upon thee fallBefore my mental vision e'er appear.I love thy hills and vales, thy founts and bow'rs;But, oh! I love thy tow'ring mountains more,Where echoings immortal ever ring,
(90)
