1
At Palaiseau, there liv’d a maid,
In form and features mild;
The stings of conscience never prey’d,
On this devoted child.
2
She serv’d a wealthy farmer there,
An honest soul was he;
Her comforts were his only care,
And all he wish’d to see.
3
His wife was of another mould,
And prematurely smart;
Hasty, and rash, with that a scold,
Yet still a feeling heart.
4
One summers eve’, her labor done,
She sat in pensive plight;
Watching the clear declining sun,
With rapt’rous delight.