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 And joyous peals the vintage song His wild luxuriant shores along, As peasant-bands, from rock and dell, Their strains of choral transport swell; And cliffs of bold fantastic forms, Aspiring to the realm of storms; And woods around, and waves below, Catch the red Orient's deepening glow, That lends each tower, and convent-spire, A tinge of its ethereal fire.

Swell high the song of festal hours! Deck ye the shrine with living flowers! Let music o'er the waters breathe! Let beauty twine the bridal wreath! While she, whose blue eye laughs in light, Whose cheek with love's own hue is bright, The fair-hair'd maid of Lindheim's hall, Wakes to her nuptial festival. Oh! who hath seen, in dreams that soar To worlds the soul would fain explore, When, for her own blest country pining, Its beauty o'er her thought is shining, Some form of heaven, whose cloudless eye, Was all one beam of extacy? Whose glorious brow no traces wore Of guilt, or sorrow known before? Whose smile, undimm'd by aught of earth, A sunbeam of immortal birth, Spoke of bright realms, far distant lying, Where love and joy are both undying?