This world of ours is beautiful—right beautiful, I ween, Are all its mountains tipt with gold, its valleys tinged with green, Its thousand laughing streams that sport, half sunshine and half shade, Like love’s first herald seen upon the rosy cheeked maid. The springing flowers are beautiful that open to the day, And spread their perfume far and wide along the sunny way; The vine-clad rocks and shady dells that bask in beauty’s sheen; This world of ours is beautiful—wherever it is seen.
This world of ours was beautiful in those good olden days When knights would battle valiantly for ladies’ smiles and praise; When in the list and on the turf, with lance and spear and sword, These iron-handed men would meet no bond but plighted word. Each castle was a fortress then; each man could bend the bow, Or lead the dance, or join the song with voice as soft and low, As maidens when at night they hear their lovers’ whispered praise; Oh! was not the world beautiful in those good olden days?
This world of ours was beautiful, when troubadours first sang, And castle hall and cottage roof with love and glory rang; When high-born damsels clustered round—perhaps to hear of one Who joined the armies of the Cross, to fight ’neath Syria’s sun; How he had borne the banner high amid the thickest fight, And placed his name where it will shine like stars amid the night; And then bright eyes would brighter beam, despite the truant tear; Oh! was not the world beautiful when minstrelsy was here?
This world of ours was beautiful when Rome was great and free, And proudly shone her mountain-bird, the type of Liberty; When Freedom found a resting-place within those trophied walls, And circled with her eagle wing its temples and its halls; When on the yellow Tiber’s wave the shouts of victory came, And pride and glory mingled with the conqueror’s lauded name; Then came the proud triumphal march, the heroes crowned with bays; Oh! was not the world beautiful in those her palmy days?
This world of ours was beautiful when Venice ruled the tide, And thousand voices rose to greet the old man’s ocean bride; The waters gladly danced around the castles old and proud, And from the latticed balconies, upon the passing crowd, Gleamed forth the light of beauty’s eye—Venetia’s daughters fair, With hearts as pure as were the gems that glistened in their hair; As bold in danger, true in love, as brave men’s brides should be; Oh! was not the world beautiful when Venice ruled the sea?