From all her stores she bears a part,
And bids the spring of hope re-flow,
That languish'd in the fainting heart.
"What, though so pale his haggard face,
So sunk and sad his looks,"—she cries—
"And far unlike our nobler race,
With crisped locks and rolling eyes:
Yet misery marks him of our kind;
We see him lost, alone, afraid;
And pangs of body, griefs in mind,