XI.

I look’d--and lo! the clear, broad river flowing Past the old Moorish ruin on the steep, The lone tower dark against a heaven all glowing, Like seas of glass and fire!--I saw the sweep Of glorious woods far down the mountain side, And their still shadows in the gleaming tide, And the red evening on its waves asleep; And midst the scene--oh! more than all--there smiled My child’s fair face, and hers, the mother of my child!