O! such a bird in such a nest!
Yet, from that spot she will not roam,
To her the dearest, sweetest, best!
Yes! for where love in woman's form
Whispers soft vows in gentlest tone,
The very snow-clad cliff will warm,
The crag be smooth as eider-down.
The pigeon on its pinion fair
From that grey islet never roves;
Ah no !—her constant mate is there,
With joy, and all its world of loves.
The night went by, and morning's wing
Through eastern skies came waving grey;
The last lone star was glittering
With indistinct and feeble ray,
Like hope, whene'er it beams afar,
A pale, a cold, a trembling star!
The breeze of matin roams about
Sweet as the sigh a rose gives out,
When she hath half the sorrows heard
At silent hour, in plaintive lay,
Of her enamoured minstrel bird
Pining with passion pure away.
The heavens are tinged with many a hue,
Gold, amethyst, and softest blue;
As if the angels there had flung
Those colours from their plumes of light,
And when their morning hymn was sung
Had rushed away from mortal sight.
Each cloud that melts, or swiftly flies
Like strangest dreams from sleepers' eyes;
And lo! the sun now beams above
Nuleeni and her robber-love.—
Would that the days might thus have passed
Of that divine enthusiast,—
For ever bright, for ever fair,
No angry storm to blacken there,
Or break the pure, the crystal stream
Reflecting heaven, like poet's dream !—
O! that the gems in pleasure's ring
Might never fade or fall away;
But 'tis, alas! a fragile thing
Breaking too like a rainbow's ray—
And oh! were bliss to mortals given,
Who, who would leave our earth for heaven?