Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white,
Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew,
Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight.
Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade,
In aching silence list'ning to her song,
At distance follow'd slowly through the glade,
Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along.
YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL.
O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!