Were forest dun, dark mountain hoar,
Old ruined tower and castle keep,
Reflected from the emerald shore.
But swift winged thought, so prone to stray,
Was hov’ring o’er a western strand,
When lo! came minstrel’s gentle lay.
In tones as from Elysian land.
A Seville girl with jeweled hair
Was near her trellised window leaning,
And pouring on the balmy air,