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VI.
THE BALCONY.
Rare was the pastime o'er thy rail to lean,And gaze upon the motley crowd below,
Or trace the distant valleys broad and green,
Girded by hills whose tops were bright with snow:
It was a spot to muse:—life's waters beat
Like a swift river in tumultuous flow,
Winding capriciously beneath my feet,
While flushed its wave with nature's purest glow.
But when around night's balmy silence fell,
Thou wert a paradise, for by my side
Stood one, whose presence, like a grateful spell,
That scene of tranquil beauty glorified:
And now thy name wakes thoughts of love that seem
Like the remembered music of a dream!
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