And whisper soft, with siren glee,
"My bloom is not—oh not for thee!"
II.
Within Youth's flowery vale I tread,
By some entrancing shadow led—
And Echo to my call replies—
Yet, as she answers, lo, she flies!
And, as I seem to reach her cell—
The grotto, where she weaves her spell—
The Nymph's sweet voice afar I hear—