With constancy unalter’d clings,
And, smiling o’er the wreck of state,
With beauty clothes the desolate.
—E’en such was she, the fair-hair’d maid,
In all her light of youth array’d,
Forsaking every joy below
To soothe a guilty parent’s woe,
And clinging thus, in beauty’s prime,
To the dark ruin made by crime.
Oh! ne’er did heaven’s propitious eyes