But there were roses lying near at hand,
To spring into her cheek; oft from within
They came, call’d up at feeling’s high command,
And on the glowing surface long remain’d.
O, she was beautiful, when her soft eye
Would speak the feelings all could understand,
And on her cheek glow’d heaven-born sympathy!
O, sympathy! thou hast strange power to beautify.
XVI.
There stands a country church within a wood,