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a legend of the south.
He loved—it is a simple tale,
And one that's often told;
For she he loved was beautiful,
And rich in lands and gold.
And one that's often told;
For she he loved was beautiful,
And rich in lands and gold.
The daughter of a lordly Louse,
A Baron's only pride—
For whose fair hand the proudest peers
Of many a realm had sighed.
A Baron's only pride—
For whose fair hand the proudest peers
Of many a realm had sighed.
'Twas in his studio first they met:
Her friends had brought her there,
To see if art could picture forth
A sculptured form so fair.
Her friends had brought her there,
To see if art could picture forth
A sculptured form so fair.
With trembling hand and heart of fire,
He sought her form to trace;
But ah, despair was on his brow,
For who could give that face?—
He sought her form to trace;
But ah, despair was on his brow,
For who could give that face?—
The heavenly beauty of the mind,
The spirit's sparkling light,
The eye whose gentle radiance shone,
Soft as the stars of night.
The spirit's sparkling light,
The eye whose gentle radiance shone,
Soft as the stars of night.
