And every rich and precious flower
Its fragrance on her spirit flings.

"There's not a star that shines above
But pours on her a partial ray;
Endearments, like maternal love,
Her love to Nature's self repay.

"Faith, Hope, and Joy about her heart,
Close interlace the angel arm;
And with caresses heal the smart
Of every care, and every harm.

"Amid the wealth, amid the blaze
Of luxury and pomp around,
How poor is all the eye surveys
To what we know of fairy ground!"

She ceases, and her tears flow fast--
O! can this fit of softness last,
Which, so unlook'd for, comes to share
The sickly triumph of despair?
Upon the harp her head is thrown,
All round is like a vision flown;
And o'er a billowy surge her mind
Views lost delight left far behind.