Thy gentle manners, and thy placid mien;
The smile of innocence, th’ unstudied grace
Of honest countenance, th’ high-season’d wit,
The copious stores of conversation sweet,
Which to my ravish’d ears so oft supplied
Luxurious banquet, whilst th’ indulgent flow
Of thy rich genius filled my thirsty mind.
But who can tell the gifts of innate worth,
The bosom beating to the cries of woe,
The heart of soft benignity, wherein