Of fair Rosina, then a beauteous child,
Light as the fawn, and oh! I fear as wild;
For we together o'er the hills would roam,
And through the woods, without a thought of home,
Until the clouds, robbed of their tinted light,
Told us the brightest day has still its night.
"Oh! those, indeed, were bright and joyous days,
And blissful visions mem'ry oft will raise
Of that blest time, ere Grief, with tyrant sway,
From out this breast drove Hope and Peace away.