Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/141

Rh

And brilliant wreaths the altar have arrayed, Where meet her noblest youth, and loveliest maid.

To that young bride each grace hath Nature given, Which glows on Art's divinest dream,—her eye Hath a pure sunbeam of her native heaven— Her cheek a tinge of morning's richest dye; Fair as that daughter of the south, whose form Still breathes and charms, in Vinci's colours warm.*

But is she blest?—for sometimes o'er her smile A soft sweet shade of pensiveness is cast, And in her liquid glance there seems a while, To dwell some thought whose soul is with the past. Yet soon it flies—a cloud that leaves no trace On the sky's azure of its dwelling-place.