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Oft would that gift of the southern sky, O'erflow from her lips in melody;— Oft amid festal halls it came, Like the springing forth of a sudden flame— Till the dance was hush'd, and the silvery tone Of her Inspiration, was heard alone. And Fame went with her, the bright, the crown'd, And Music floated her steps around; And every lay of her soul was borne Through the sunny land, as on wings of morn.

And was the daughter of Venice blest, With a power so deep in her youthful breast? Could She be happy, o'er whose dark eye So many changes and dreams went by? And in whose cheek the swift crimson wrought As if but born from the rush of thought? —Yes! in the brightness of joy awhile She moved, as a bark in the sunbeam's smile; For her spirit, as over her lyre's full chord, All, all on a happy love was pour'd!