To visit this beautiful northern land,
And paint the cheeks by her warm breath fann’d.
And I was thinking how sweet was life!
How sweet to the maiden, and the wife!
Aye—sweet to the pensive widow too,
When her heart breathes out for its chosen few,
And the amulet worn on the throbbing breast
Is love—the purest and the best.
’Twas then I met a queen-like form,
But O, that heart, which, beating warm,