 | The forest minstrel |  |
74
THE THREE CROWNS.
She wore the crown of Beauty,
A queen of hearts was she;
And proud and strong men at her feet
Adored on bended knee;
She seemed a thing to worship,
So regal was her grace,
And such a seal of majesty
Impressed her perfect face.
A queen of hearts was she;
And proud and strong men at her feet
Adored on bended knee;
She seemed a thing to worship,
So regal was her grace,
And such a seal of majesty
Impressed her perfect face.
Her cheeks were red with beauty,
Her smile was rich with pearls,
Her white brow shone like purity
Amid her golden curls.
Her eyes were like deep fountains
Beneath the southern skies,
In which the richest blue of heaven
In pure reflection lies.
Her smile was rich with pearls,
Her white brow shone like purity
Amid her golden curls.
Her eyes were like deep fountains
Beneath the southern skies,
In which the richest blue of heaven
In pure reflection lies.
Her voice was like the wild bird's,
That sings her hymn at even;
Her radiant smile came o'er the soul
So like a dream of heaven.
She wore the crown of Beauty,
But wore it in her pride,
And Envy with her withering breath
Walked ever by her side.
That sings her hymn at even;
Her radiant smile came o'er the soul
So like a dream of heaven.
She wore the crown of Beauty,
But wore it in her pride,
And Envy with her withering breath
Walked ever by her side.
75
She wore the crown of Genius,—
She ranged the field of thought;
She studied nature's beauteous book,
With holy lessons fraught;
And tomes, that are to others
Impenetrably sealed,
Unclasping at her magic touch,
Their precious lore revealed.
She ranged the field of thought;
She studied nature's beauteous book,
With holy lessons fraught;
And tomes, that are to others
Impenetrably sealed,
Unclasping at her magic touch,
Their precious lore revealed.
With footsteps like the zephyr,
She climbed Parnassus' height,
And from its rainbow coronet,
Wove garlands of delight;
By Helicon's pure fountain
She often paused to drink,
To cull the never-fading flowers
That clustered on its brink.
She climbed Parnassus' height,
And from its rainbow coronet,
Wove garlands of delight;
By Helicon's pure fountain
She often paused to drink,
To cull the never-fading flowers
That clustered on its brink.
Her mind was like pure waters,
Where richest pearls abound;
Her fancy strung them playfully,
And threw them flashing round;
She wore the crown of Genius,
To which earth's monarchs bow;
But it was fever to her heart,
And ice upon her brow.
Where richest pearls abound;
Her fancy strung them playfully,
And threw them flashing round;
She wore the crown of Genius,
To which earth's monarchs bow;
But it was fever to her heart,
And ice upon her brow.
She wore Religion's circlet,—
A thorny crown it seemed,
From which no sheen of yellow gold,
No diamond lustre gleamed;
But from its pure white blossoms
Exhaled a fragrant balm,
That lay upon her heart and life,
A blessing and a charm.
A thorny crown it seemed,
From which no sheen of yellow gold,
No diamond lustre gleamed;
But from its pure white blossoms
Exhaled a fragrant balm,
That lay upon her heart and life,
A blessing and a charm.
76
Above her fair young forehead
It shone serenely bright,
And Beauty's rose and Genius' gem
Grew glorious in its light;
That crown of holy meekness
She wore in perfect peace;
It shed a light of truth and love,
And filled her soul with bliss.
It shone serenely bright,
And Beauty's rose and Genius' gem
Grew glorious in its light;
That crown of holy meekness
She wore in perfect peace;
It shed a light of truth and love,
And filled her soul with bliss.
Wo to the crown of Beauty!
Its flowers grew pale and sere,
And its adorers fled like birds,
When autumn days are drear;
Wo to the crown of Genius!
'Twas cold upon her brow;
Alas! 'tis only o'er the grave
Its living jewels glow.
Its flowers grew pale and sere,
And its adorers fled like birds,
When autumn days are drear;
Wo to the crown of Genius!
'Twas cold upon her brow;
Alas! 'tis only o'er the grave
Its living jewels glow.
All hail! Religion's chaplet,—
We bless its heavenly power;
There's healing in each verdant leaf,
And balm in every flower;
No blight, no change, no withering,
Comes ever to that wreath;
It blooms, a balm, a bliss in life,
A glorious hope in death.
We bless its heavenly power;
There's healing in each verdant leaf,
And balm in every flower;
No blight, no change, no withering,
Comes ever to that wreath;
It blooms, a balm, a bliss in life,
A glorious hope in death.
| The forest minstrel | |