Now, if my harp shall echo well,
The story of her life, and tell,
In worthy feet, her beauty's power
That flourished as a springtime flower,
I shall be richer, happier far
Than one should own a round, bright star.
And what if the fair maid should smile,
To hear my warbled strain?
Ah! that would all my grief beguile,
Undo the life of Pain.