62
THE IMPROVISATRICE.
The laugh as glad, the step as light,
The song as sweet, the glance as bright;
As the laugh, step, and glance, and song,
Did to young happiness belong.
I turned me from the crowd, and reached
A spot which seemed unsought by all—
An alcove filled with shrubs and flowers,
But lighted by the distant hall,
With one or two fair statues placed,
Like deities of the sweet shrine
That human art should ever frame
Such shapes so utterly divine!
A deep sigh breathed,—I knew the tone;
My cheek blushed warm, my heart beat high;—
