My inmost spirit fluttered, when
I said, O wondrous child!
I thought a troop of angels stood
Amid that lofty fane,
And (I in that ecstatic mood)
They sped to bliss again.
That, whole bright day, I wandered wide,
O'er sunny hill and vale,
And thought no day of brighter pride
E'er lay on Elfindale;
I thought, that day dear Frankie love,
Had been new-linked with those above;
And henceforth angels would attend
The maiden, to her journey's end.

Fair Frankie grew in attributes
That harmonized like golden flutes,
Or harps of silver strain:
She loved the Lovely--growing so,
With every year's advancing flow;--
She was the Death of Pain!
The dwellers in green Elfindale,
Were happier all for her,
The very flowers she loved to trail,
With pleasure's thrill, would stir.
She loved both man and brute that dwelt
Within that vale of Good;
And they, as bettered beings, felt
New virtue--as they should.
And thus a shining, golden chain,