THE WREATH.
213
Ay, beautiful she was as light
Descending on the darken'd sight;
But these were not the spells that gave
Leila the heart of her charmed slave;
But all those sweet gifts that win,
Like sunshine, instant entrance in;
Those gentle words and acts that bind
In love our nature with our kind.
She dwelt within a palace fair
Such as in fairy gardens are;
There grew her father's cypress tree,
No other monument had he.
He bade that never funeral stone
Should tell of glory overthrown,—
What could it say, but foreign sky
Had seen the exile pine and die?
P 3
