That soul which easy, unaffected, mild,
Through jetty eyes, with cheerful sweetness smiled.
But oh! could fancy reach or language speak
The living beauties of thy lip and cheek,
Where nature’s pencil, leaving art no room,
Touched to a miracle the vernal bloom;
Lost though thou art, in Stella’s faithful line,
Thy face, immortal as thy fame, should shine.
To soundest prudence, (life’s unerring guide,)
To love sincere, religion void of pride,