But the same rich, golden sunlight
Fell on the flowers and snow,
Like the smile of God that flashes
On hearts in joy or woe.
And on the lake's low margin
The trees wore stoles of green,
While here and there, amid them,
A convent cross was seen.
Anon a ruined castle,
Moss-mantled, loomed in view,
And cast its solemn shadow
Across the water's blue.
And chapel, cot, and villa,
Met here and there our gaze,
And many a crumbling tower
That told of other days.
And scattered o'er the waters
The fishing boats lay still,
And sound of song so softly
Came echoed from the hill.
At times the mountain's shadow
Fell dark across the scene,
And veiled with veil of purple
The wavelets' silver sheen.
But for a moment only
The lake would wind, and lo!
The waves would near the glory
Of the sunlight's brightest glow.
At times there fell a silence
Unbroken by a tone,
As if no sound of voices
Had ever there been known.
Through strange and lonely places
We glided thus for hours;
We saw no other faces
But the faces of the flowers.
The shores were sad and lonely
As hearts without a love,
While darker and more dreary
The mountains rose above.
But sudden round a headland
The lake would sweep again,
And voices from a village
Would meet us with their strain.
Thus all the day we glided,
Until the Vesper bell
Gave to the day, at sunset,
Its sweet and soft farewell.
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