Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/167

Rh As I grew older,

Beautiful visions

Glanc'd thro' the foliage

Of the old oak trees;

Near the clear streamlet

Rising irriguous,

Visions of beauty

Which my song chaunted.

Then did my country

And her bright children

Waken its music—

Then did love's passion

Thrill thro' the harp-strings,

And the bright eye-balls

Of that divine one,

Who in the darkness

Of the green garden,

Beam'd—and fled smiling.

Wicked one! darting

Into my bosom—

And then departing.