Last week, of fair young city belles
I met a brilliant throng,
Where jewels gleamed, and bright eyes flashed
’Mid laughter dance and song.
One in the crowd, for loveliness,
Was peerless ’mong the fair—
Gems glittered in her rich attire,
And glittered in her hair.
I saw her—started—looked again—
Yes, ’twas my rustic maid.
How sweet her face! how bright her smile!
Even thus in gems arrayed.
But something from her lip, and eye,
And cheek, and brow was gone:—
The rustic maid, in native grace,
The city belle outshone.
A.
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