Oft, when her mother fix'd my gaze,
Enwrapt, on bright perfection's blaze,
Hopes the imperious spell beguil'd,
Transcendant thus to see my child:
But now, for charms of form or face,
Save only purity and grace;
Save sweetness, which all rage disarms,
Would lure an infant to her arms
In instantaneous love; and make
A heart, like mine, with fondness ache;
I little care, so she be free
From such remorse as preys on me!'

"My dearest father!--Yet he grew
Profoundly anxious, as he knew
More of the dangers lurking round;
But I was on enchanted ground!
Delighted with my minstrel art,
I had a thousand lays by heart;
And while my yet unpractis'd tongue
Descanted on the strains I sung,
Still seeking treasure, like a bee,
I laugh'd and caroll'd, wild with glee!

"Delicious moments then I knew,
When the rough winds against me blew:
When, from the top of mountain steep,
I glanc'd my eye along the deep;
Or, proud the keener air to breathe,
Exulting saw the vale beneath.