Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/212

Rh

Hark! floats around it music's tone, Sweeter than mortal ear hath known: Such, when the sighing night-wind grieves Amid the rose's ruby leaves, Conscious the nightingale is nigh, That too soon his reluctant wing Must rival song and rival sigh To his own fair flower bring; Such as the lute, touch'd by no hand Save by an angel's, wakes and weeps, Such is the sound that now to land From the charmed water sweeps. Around the snowy foam-wreaths break, The spirit band are on the lake. First, a gay train form'd of the hues Of morning skies and morning dews;