I saw the smiling bard of pleasure,
The minstrel of the Teian measure;
’Twas in a vision of the night,
He beam’d upon my wondering sight
I heard his voice, and warmly prest
The dear enthusiast to my breast.
His tresses wore a silvery dye,
But beauty sparkled in his eye;
Sparkled in his eyes of fire,
Through the mist of soft desire,
His lip exhaled, whene’er he sigh’d,
The fragrance of the racy tide;
And, as with weak and reeling feet
He came my cordial kiss to meet,
An infant, of the Cyprian band,
Guided him on with tender hand.
Quick from his glowing brows he drew
His braid, of many a wanton hue;
I took the wreath, whose inmost twine
Breathed of him and blush’d with wine.
I hung it o’er my thoughtless brow,
And ah! I feel its magic now:
I feel that even his garland’s touch
Can make the bosom love too much.