A counterfeit of pining thought,
With tresses yellow as the light,
Cheeks pale as violet of the night,
And eyes like the forget-me-not.
Eastern her blood ; her black locks lie,
Like midnight round a bed of roses,
Where on her forehead bold and high
Glad courage — the sole true — reposes ;
Like victory graven on the shield
That warrior-maiden bears in field.
Her hue fresh as in painters' dreams
Aurora crowned with radiant beams ;
In form she seemed an Oread,
And dancing was her step and glad.
And high her swelling bosom heaves
With youth and health ; together weaves
The lily with the rose her frame ;
Her soul a pure ethereal flame ;
A southern summer-heaven complete
With sun and flowery odors sweet.