Daughter of wealth!—whose breast hath never known 600
Want’s bitter pang, misfortune’s stifled groan;
If,—in the fountain of thy woman’s heart
Pity and sympathising love have part,—
When such a claim we proffer—pass not by
Or turn away with cold averted eye! 605
Go—open Nature’s book, and she will tell
How potent is Compassion’s silent spell;
Making worth nobler,—loveliness more fair,
And talent brighter for the tear they spare.