And glossy wings. There was one only thing
That spoke them strangers in the land, and told
The luxuries of other days: there hung
A Spanish maiden's ivory guitar,
With its rich fretting of gold ornament;
And that was often waked,—as memory lived
Chiefly on its dear chords; and she would sing,
That dark-eyed lady, sometimes when alone,—
And then her songs were sad: but when the eve
Came in the beauty of a June twilight,
With all its sleeping flowers, its dews, its clouds,
Touched with the sunset's crimson lingering,—
Or, when it came with its gay lighted hearth,
Sweet with the burning of the cedar wood,
Her voice was cheerful, as the sunny song
The lark pours to the morning and his mate;
For then her hunter sought his lonely bride,
And, like a victor, brought his trophies home.
It was a little nook,—as nature made,
In some gay mood, a solitude for love,
And, at her bidding, love had sought the place,
And made it paradise. On the west side,
Like a dark mountain, stood the forest old,
Guarding it from the wind,—which howled at night,
As if that wood were its chief treasure cave.
And, opposite, there was a clear small lake,
From whence the morning, like a beauty, came
Fresh from her bath;— the eye could span its breadth;
And green savannahs, on the further bank,
