346
KNICKERBOCKER GALLERY.
Till I almost looked to see thee rise
Like a soaring thought to the free blue skies,
Or melt away in the thin, blue air,
Like a vision of fancy painted there,
Thy low sweet voice, as it thrills around,
Seems less a sound than a dream of sound;
Softly and wildly its clear notes swell,
Like the spirit-tones of a silver bell;
And the lips whence the fairy music flows
Is to Fancy's eye like a speaking rose.
Like a soaring thought to the free blue skies,
Or melt away in the thin, blue air,
Like a vision of fancy painted there,
Thy low sweet voice, as it thrills around,
Seems less a sound than a dream of sound;
Softly and wildly its clear notes swell,
Like the spirit-tones of a silver bell;
And the lips whence the fairy music flows
Is to Fancy's eye like a speaking rose.
Beautiful, beautiful girl! thou art
A vision of joy to the throbbing heart;
A star sent down from the world of bliss,
And all undimmed by the shades of this;
A rainbow pictured by Love's own son
On the clouds of being, beautiful one!
A vision of joy to the throbbing heart;
A star sent down from the world of bliss,
And all undimmed by the shades of this;
A rainbow pictured by Love's own son
On the clouds of being, beautiful one!
Beautiful girl! 't is a weary year
Since thy sweet voice fell on my ravished ear;
'T is a long, long year of light and gloom
Since I gazed on thy young cheeks' lovely bloom;
Yet thy gentle tones of music still
Through the holiest depths of memory thrill
Like tones of a fount, or breeze, or bird,
In the long-gone years of childhood heard.
And oft in my dark and lonely moods,
When a demon wing o'er my spirit broods,
Thine image seems on my soul to break
Like the sweet young moon o'er a gloomy lake,
Filling its depths, as the shadows flee,
With beauty and love and melody.
Since thy sweet voice fell on my ravished ear;
'T is a long, long year of light and gloom
Since I gazed on thy young cheeks' lovely bloom;
Yet thy gentle tones of music still
Through the holiest depths of memory thrill
Like tones of a fount, or breeze, or bird,
In the long-gone years of childhood heard.
And oft in my dark and lonely moods,
When a demon wing o'er my spirit broods,
Thine image seems on my soul to break
Like the sweet young moon o'er a gloomy lake,
Filling its depths, as the shadows flee,
With beauty and love and melody.
Beautiful girl! thou art far away,
And I know not where thy stepe now stray;
But oh! 't is sweet, it is very sweet,
In the fairy realms of dreams to greet
Thy cheek of rose, thy brow of pearl,
And thy voice of music, beautiful girl!
And I know not where thy stepe now stray;
But oh! 't is sweet, it is very sweet,
In the fairy realms of dreams to greet
Thy cheek of rose, thy brow of pearl,
And thy voice of music, beautiful girl!
