The golden fringe of his long, bright hair
Sweeping the maiden’s locks of jet.
Thro’ perfum’d air, replete with peace,
The swallows skim the blue waves’ flow:
The lovely Dympna’s hand, at rest
On her lover’s arm (a thing of snow)—
Thrills, as he bends his head, and breathes
In her blushing ear, a whisper low.