And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,

And hands which offer early flowers,

Walk smiling o'er this Paradise;

Above, the frequent feudal towers

Through green leaves lift their walls of gray;

And many a rock which steeply lowers,

And noble arch in proud decay,

Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;

But one thing want these banks of Rhine,—

Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!