Where his Iola might be lone,
To dream of fancies all her own.
Yes! oft as evening shades came down,
On giant Andes' glittering crown
Of endless snow, that shines afar
Next to the radiant zenith star;
Then throw their dark and sombre lines,
Upon the mountain's lower pines:
Come, then, to me, and we will speak,
Sweet thrilling words, and on my cheek,