Her form, her face, Ah what were they?
Tho’ loveliest beauties there were dwelling;
The ringlets unrestrain’d that stray’d;
The ruby lip with nectar swelling?
X
Tho’ these were fair, her lovelier mind
Each outward beauty far exceeded,
By nature’s quick’ning power refined,
Soft Pity’s gentle voice it heeded.
XI
And love, had been the tender name
That swell’d our hearts in holiest union,
But ah! too young to own the flame,
We felt the bosom’s soft communion.
XII
Sudden, again—the tremb’ling lyre
Its sound, to sorrow’s notes surrender’d;
Lost was remember’d rapture’s fire,
And woe seem’d in its strings engender’d.
XIII
Why changed the sound? ah why! no more
Did rapture wake th’ inspiring measure?
Why jar’d despair the accents o’er,
Dark’ning each scene of vanish’d pleasure?