 | The battle of Niagara |  |
That girl with rich dark hair, was wild
As Nature's youngest, freest child:
As artless—generous—and sincere—
As blushes when they first appear—
Or Rapture's unexpected tear:
Hers was the sudden crimson flush,
And hers the rich spontaneous gush
Of hearts, when first in youth they're prest,
And can't conceal that they are blest:
Her downcast eye, and pale smooth brow:
The heaving of her breast of snow:
The murmuring of her voice—and tread
That faultered in its youthful dread:—
Would ever to the eye reveal,
What all but mountain nymphs conceal:
And she, before that boy, would stand
With lifted brow and outstretched hand—
As if she felt a holy awe;—
And all her heart was in her eyes,
And all her soul would seem to rise—
While thus she stood for hours, and gazed
Upon that minstrel boy—amazed
At all she heard—and all she saw.
As Nature's youngest, freest child:
As artless—generous—and sincere—
As blushes when they first appear—
Or Rapture's unexpected tear:
Hers was the sudden crimson flush,
And hers the rich spontaneous gush
Of hearts, when first in youth they're prest,
And can't conceal that they are blest:
Her downcast eye, and pale smooth brow:
The heaving of her breast of snow:
The murmuring of her voice—and tread
That faultered in its youthful dread:—
200
What all but mountain nymphs conceal:
And she, before that boy, would stand
With lifted brow and outstretched hand—
As if she felt a holy awe;—
And all her heart was in her eyes,
And all her soul would seem to rise—
While thus she stood for hours, and gazed
Upon that minstrel boy—amazed
At all she heard—and all she saw.
| The battle of Niagara | |