There is beauty on the mountain, In the morning's early gleam; There is beauty in the fountain, By the moonlight's silv'ry beam. But more beautiful the splendour Of thy smile, love, when we meet, And that dewy eye more tender, Which can make e'en parting sweet. There is music in the measure Of the soaring skylark's lay, When he hails with eager pleasure The rising orb of day. But mine ear would rather listen To the human voice benign; And mine eye would soonest glisten, When that voice, belov'd, is thine.