In reel, in waltz, in lancer's maze,
She moved with pretty air of grace,
And all the ball-room's brilliant blaze
Seemed borrowed brightness from her face!
O, winsome maid, demure and sweet!
I'll ne'er forget when first I met her,
And saw the dainty slippered feet
Glide o'er the floor at Linnietta!
O, dreams of youth and beauty rare,
What rose-hued visions thou canst paint!
But none in loveliness compare
With her who seemed Love's patron saint!
Her pictured image haunts the mind,
And, oh, I never can forget her,
Nor rarer pleasure hope to find
Than dance with her at Linnietta!
Arrayed in softly flowing gown,
The love-light flashing from her eyes--
With cheeks aglow like roses blown
Beneath the ardent summer skies--
No artist hand could fitly trace
The wondrous charm that did beset her,
When tripping with a fairy's grace
O'er the waxen floor at Linnietta!