For youth of snowy gleam.
Watoga! sure some demon lied,
To thee, when wrapt amid thy sleep,
To make thee his forlornest bride,
Beneath the moaning deep.
That youth who floats an Angel through,
Thy night, thy daily dream—
He loves a maid whose eyes are blue,
And cheek like yon full moon's white beam.
The simple ornaments which thou