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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
Mirrors like the glassy plain,
Where the beauty beam'd again;
Pictures whose Italian grace
Show'd inspiration's finest trace,
To whose wing'd moods were given
Moment's visionings of heaven;
And, more than all together fair,
Beauty's living soul was there.
Follow'd by those who pleasaunce took
In converse light and curious look,
The Countess led where leaf and flower
Made one small hall an Eastern bower.
The blush acacia seem'd to keep
Watch o'er the rose's purple sleep;
And tulips, like the wine-cups stored
Round a monarch's festal board;
