The Crystal-Hunters. (Swiss Air.)

A poem by Thomas Moore

O'er mountains bright
With snow and light,
We Crystal-Hunters speed along;
While rocks and caves,
And icy wares,
Each instant echo to our song;
And, when we meet with store of gems,
We grudge not kings their diadems.
O'er mountains bright
With snow and light,
We Crystal-Hunters speed along;
While grots and caves,
And icy waves,
Each instant echo to our song.

Not half so oft the lover dreams
Of sparkles from his lady's eyes,
As we of those refreshing gleams
That tell where deep the crystal lies;
Tho', next to crystal, we too grant,
That ladies' eyes may most enchant.
O'er mountains bright, etc.

Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose
The golden sunset leaves its ray,
So like a gem the floweret glows,
We hither bend our headlong way;
And, tho' we find no treasure there,
We bless the rose that shines so fair.
O'er mountains bright
With snow and light,
We Crystal-Hunters speed along;
While rocks and caves,
And icy waves,
Each instant echo to our song,

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