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Poem	("J'aime à me figure.") {Bk. III. vii. and viii.} I love to look, as evening fails, On vestals streaming in their veils, Within the fane past altar rails, Green palms in hand. My darkest moods will always clear When I can fancy children near, With rosy lips a-laughing—dear, Light-dancing band! Enchanting vision, too, displayed, That of a sweet and radiant maid, Who knows not why she is afraid,— Love's yet unseen! Another—rarest 'mong the rare— To see the gaze of chosen fair Return prolonged and wistful stare Of eager een. But—dream o'er all to stir my soul, And shine the brightest on the roll, Is when a land of tyrant's toll By sword is rid. I say not dagger—with the sword When Right enchampions the horde, All in broad day—so that the bard May sing the victor with the starred Bayard and Cid!
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