Fanny's heart was always light,
Light and free as plumed bird;
When she glanced within our sight,
Or her merry voice we heard,
Music in our hearts was stirred.
Ask you still where Fanny hides?
I will tell you by and by;
Look you where the river glides,
In whose depths the shadows lie,
Mingled of the earth and sky.
Fanny always loved that spot;
There her favorite flowers grew—
Violet, Forget-me-not,
And the Iris' gold and blue,
With its pearly beads of dew.
Oft on the old rustic bridge,
Made of supple boughs entwined,
Hanging from each margin's ridge
Like a hammock in the wind,
Fanny fearlessly reclined.
And she told me, while her eyes
Filled with tears of childish bliss,
That she could see Paradise,
From her rocking resting-place,
Mirrored in the river's face;
That she saw the tall trees wave;
Bright—winged birds among their bowers;
And a river that did lave
Banks o'ergrown with fairest flowers,
And a sky more bright than ours.
Then she asked, with such a smile
As an angel face might wear,
If she watched a long, long while,
