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And all unmixed with ruder tone,
Their "wood-notes wild" be heard alone!

Far from the frown of stern control,
That vainly would subdue the soul,
There shall their long-affianced hands,
Be joined in consecrated bands,
And in some rich, romantic vale,
    Circled with heights of Alpine snow,
Where citron-woods enrich the gale,
And scented shrubs their balm exhale,
    And flowering myrtles blow;
And 'midst the mulberry boughs on high,
Weaves the wild vine her tapestry:
On some bright streamlet's emerald side,
Where cedars wave, in graceful pride,
Bosomed in groves, their home shall rise,
A sheltered bower of Paradise!

Thus would the lover soothe to rest
With tales of hope, her anxious breast;