Its features mingling fast.

Gaze, Bertha! gaze: thy lingering eye

May still each lovely scene descry

Of years for ever past!

There wave the woods, beneath whose shade

With bounding step thy childhood play’d,

Midst ferny glades and mossy lawns,

Free as their native birds and fawns;

Listening the sylvan sounds, that float

On each low breeze, midst dells remote—