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Low music echoes through the breezes warm; The violet lends the poppy her sweet breath; The song of nightingales is heard, a swarm Of butterflies flit hov'ring o'er the heath. While thus I lie, wrapped in a morning dream, Half waking, half asleep, 'mid poppies red, A fresh breeze cools my burning cheeks; a gleam Of light shines in the East. Hath the night sped?
Read on, my dear." Isabella then read a passage, which, notwithstanding Mrs. Harcourt's inclination to be displeased, captivated her ear, and seized her imagination. "Slow out of earth, before the festive crowds, On wheels of fire, amid a night of clouds, Drawn by fierce fiends, arose a magic car, Received the queen, and, hov'ring, flamed in air.
Or trace his footsteps by the rising flow'rs? Your golden wings now hov'ring o'er him shed Protection: now are wav'ring in applause To that blest son of foresight! Lord of fate! That awful independent on to-morrow! Whose work is done; who triumphs in the past; Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile."
This dreamy Indian summer-day Attunes the soul to tender sadness: We love, but joy not in the ray, It is not summer's fervid gladness, But a melancholy glory Hov'ring brightly round decay, Like swan that sings her own sad story, Ere she floats in death away. The day declines.
Low music echoes through the breezes warm; The violet lends the poppy her sweet breath; The song of nightingales is heard, a swarm Of butterflies flit hov'ring o'er the heath. While thus I lie, wrapped in a morning dream, Half waking, half asleep, 'mid poppies red, A fresh breeze cools my burning cheeks; a gleam Of light shines in the East. Hath the night sped?
Low music echoes through the breezes warm; The violet lends the poppy her sweet breath; The song of nightingales is heard, a swarm Of butterflies flit hov'ring o'er the heath. While thus I lie, wrapped in a morning dream, Half waking, half asleep, 'mid poppies red, A fresh breeze cools my burning cheeks; a gleam Of light shines in the East. Hath the night sped?
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