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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
And ranged in a graceful order round,
A fairy court upon fairy ground,
Group'd the bright band; and, like a tent,
Leaves and bloom over all were blent,
Flinging bright colours, but changing fast,
As ever the varying sunbeams pass'd;
And in the midst grew a myrtle tree,
There was the minstrel's place to be,
And its buds were delicate, frail, and fair,
As the hopes and joys of his own heart are.
Dark was the brow, and the bearing proud,
Of the bard who first stept forth from the crowd;
A small cloak down from his shoulder hung,
And a light guitar o'er his arm was slung;
Many a lady's casement had known
The moonlight spell of its magic tone:
