As near this fairy bower I drew,
An object met my startled view,
Entrancing all my powers;
A fair young girl was kneeling there,
Her white hands clasped in fervent prayer,--
Her dark hair wreathed with flowers.
Meekly her eyes to heav'n were turned,
While in her trusting heart there burned
The fire of holy love;
So fair, so heavenly, looked her face,
Less seemed she one of mortal race,
Than angel from above.
It was a lovely, starry night,
And softly in the silver light,
Did flickering shadows fall;
And bright the flowers that blossomed there;
But the incense of that maiden's prayer,
Was purer, far, than all.
The sweetest sight below the skies,--
And sweetest in holy angels' eyes,
Is the young heart, when given,
With all its hopes and fears,--
Its sunny smiles and gushing tears,
An offering unto Heaven.
To a Friend
Oh, wherefore ask a song of me;
Romance within my heart is dead;
Hush'd is my spirit's minstrelsy,
Youth's golden visions all have fled.
Life's rainbow hues have pass'd away,
With clearer vision now I see;
And I more deeply feel each day,
That life's a stern reality.
It is no dream, or fairy tale,
Or minstrel's strain of music rare;
But ever foremost in its train,
Walk duty stern, and weary care.
We may not linger by the way,
To pluck the lily or the rose,
Too soon will pass the summer day,
And evening shadows round us close.
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