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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
Stretch'd around from tree to tree,
Like a royal tapestry;
Sweet sounds floated on the air,
Lutes and voices mingled there,
And a thousand flowers blent
Into one delicious scent;
Singing birds, and azure skies,
Made a spot like Paradise.
Mirzala paused not to lave
Her pale forehead in the wave,
Though each fountain was as bright
As if form'd of dew and light.
Paused she not for the sweet song,
On the rich air borne along.
Fair forms throng'd around with flowers
Breathing of spring's earliest hours;
