The hand she loved had raised that vine-clad bower,
And o’er it trained full many a fragrant flower;
The heart she prized was beating near her side,
How throbb’d her own, that moment, in her pride!
On a soft grassy seat together there,
Her hand in his, the breeze that waved her hair
Seem’d not so sweet to that confiding one,
As the warm breath of him she gazed upon,
As o’er her with a touching smile he bent,
And spoke of love, and joy, and sweet content.