'Twas not the song, 'twas not the dance,
That charmed me in the pictured hall,
But 'twas the light of her, whose glance
Awakened joy and love in all.
O! She was lovely as the spring,
When sun and song make glad the sky--
Fair as the young rose blossoming,
When summer's freshening breath is nigh. And like the first far streak of light,
That tells to morn of coming day,
So beamed her eye, serenely bright,
A pure and holy, heavenly ray!
And every word that trembling fell,
In softest music, from her tongue,
Appeared as if, where angels dwell,
A minstrel angel raptured sung! As dew of spring to flower of morn,
Or summer shower to leafy tree,
Or hope's bright ray to heart forlorn,
So her bright presence gladdened me.
The music's fled, the dance is o'er,
The song has melted into air--
But round my heart, and in its core,
The fair one dwells that charmed me there!