That lends each tower, and convent spire,
A tinge of its ethereal fire.
Swell high the song of festal hours!
Deck ye the shrine with living flowers!
Let music o’er the waters breathe!
Let beauty twine the bridal wreath!
While she, whose blue eye laughs in light,
Whose cheek with love’s own hue is bright,
The fair-hair’d maid of Lindheim’s hall,
Wakes to her nuptial festival.