O’er this fair scene its gladdening spell will fling,
For the East’s dark-eyed daughters.
But where is She, the loveliest of the throng,
The painter’s model, and the theme of song;
For whom the summer roses joyfully
Gave forth alike the beauty of their bloom,
Their dewy freshness, and their soft perfume:—
The loved of the World’s Monarch—Where is She?
Alas! for her the Spring returns in vain;
Her home is with the sleepers:—