Lines Written on Hearing a Lady Sing in the Tower of Montevideo, Near Hartford

WRITTEN ON HEARING A LADY SING IN THE TOWER OF MONTEVIDEO, NEAR HARTFORD .

The soft dews of twilight are steeping the plain,
And gemming the boughs of the willow;
The eve-star is lighting its twinkle again,
To shine on the foam of the billow.

The south breeze is brushing the breast of the lake,
That swells with a light heaving motion,
And its ripple is heard on the pebbles to break
Like the slumbering wave of the ocean.

The gale on its pinions of gossamer flies
Through the boughs of the low bending willow,
And sweeping the forest, it mournfully sighs
O'er the turf of my flowery pillow.

It bears on its wing, from the dark, lonely tower,
O'er the mead, and the wave's " playful motion, "
The song of the maid, who at eve's balmy hour
Sings her sweet breathing strain of devotion:

Like the hymn of a seraph, it floats through the grove,
And sighs o'er the slope of the mountain;
How sweet, how enchanting, its warble of love!
How it lulls, like the glow of the fountain!

As I listen, I fancy the dew-dropping cloud
That glows with a lovely " to-morrow, "
An angel conceals in its ebony shroud,
Whose harp breathes her accent of sorrow.
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