13
Soft was her eye of heav'nly blue;
Her cheek was like the opening rose,
Wet with the morning's pearly dew,
And pure her bosom's living snows.
Her cheek was like the opening rose,
Wet with the morning's pearly dew,
And pure her bosom's living snows.
In manly beauty's youthful glow
Was he, who touch'd the tuneful string,
Dark clustering o'er his polish'd brow,
Hung ringlets like the raven's wing.
Was he, who touch'd the tuneful string,
Dark clustering o'er his polish'd brow,
Hung ringlets like the raven's wing.
Stately his form, and proud his mien;
High genius sparkled in his eye
Soft'ning from glances wild and keen,
To smiles of cherub infancy.
High genius sparkled in his eye
Soft'ning from glances wild and keen,
To smiles of cherub infancy.
They saw, they lov'd—The harp still rung
To airs of love in Mitford tow'r.
Of war, of fame, no more he sung,
But high-born beauty's gentle pow'r.
To airs of love in Mitford tow'r.
Of war, of fame, no more he sung,
But high-born beauty's gentle pow'r.
