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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
Feasting was spread, the dance, the masque, the song,
Whatever might to revelry belong:
Seem'd the young prince as if he had a charm,
Love to take prisoner, envy to disarm.
Yet e'en while floating thus on fortune's tide,
While each delight the past delight outvied,
Never omitted he at twilight hour,
When sleep and dew fall on the painted flower,
There for the night like bosom friends to dwell,
To kiss the ring of his sweet Isabelle.
He told his father, whose consent had seal'd
The gentle secret, half in fear reveal'd.
True love is timid, as it knew its worth,
And that such happiness is scarce for earth.
Waited he only for the princely band
With which he was to seek his foster-land,
