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8
’Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill;
Oh! no—it was something more exquisite still?
’Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear;
And who felt how the best charms of nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Sweet vale of Ovoca! how could I rest,
In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best,
Where the storms which we feel in this cold world shall cease,
And our hearts like thy waters, be mingled in peace.
FINIS.
