And the laugh and look of gladness, when they see the distant spire;
Then their love shall kindle newly, and the world be doubly fair,
In the cool, delicious crystal of the summer morning air.
Tender eyes of Manuela! what has dimmed your lustrous beam?
’Tis a tear that falls to glitter on the casket of her dream.
Ah, the eye of Love must brighten, if its watches would be true,
For the star is falsely mirrored in the rose’s drop of dew!
But her eager eyes rekindle, and her breathless bosom stills,
As she sees a horseman moving in the shadow of the hills:
Now in love and fond thanksgiving they may loose their pearly tides—