The sunshine of thine early years,
Scarce deem’d so radiant—till it set!
The cloudless peace, unprized till gone,
The bliss, till vanish’d hardly known!
On rock and turret, wood and hill,
The fading moonbeams linger still,
Still, Bertha! gaze on yon gray tower,
At evening’s last and sweetest hour,
While varying still, the western skies
Flush’d the clear seas with rainbow dyes,