And if I can her cheek compare
To the blush-rose's hue?

Her clear eye sheds a constant gleam
Of truth and purest love,
And wit and reason from it beam,
Like the light of the stars above.
Good-humor, mirth, and fancy throng
The dimples of her cheek,
And to condemn the oppressor's wrong
Her indignant blush doth speak.

You ask me if her form is light
And graceful as the fawn;
You ask me if her tresses bright
Are like the golden dawn?

Her step is light on an errand of love,
Scarce doth she touch the earth,
And in graceful kindness doth she move
Around her father's hearth;
And when to bless his child he bends,
His comfort and delight,
The silver with her dark hair blends,
Like a crown of holy light.




A TALE