I SAT on the Isle of Rousseau,
With the dear ones by my side,
When life was bright with the promise
Of its pleasant summer-tide.

The sunshine gleamed on the terrace,
And the ramparts gray and old,
And cast on the stately statue
A shimmer of paly gold.

The lake, like a silver mirror
With pictured boats asail,
Reflected the sheen of the valleys green,
And the mountains high and pale.

The south wind sung in the poplars,
And the glad waves sung below,
But that beautiful day is far away
In the years of long ago.