Bright in thy parent’s eye we mark’d the tear;
Methought he said, “Thou art no actress here!
A semblance of thyself, the Grecian dame,
And Brunton and Euphrasia still the same!”
O! soon to seek the city’s busier scene,
Pause thee awhile, thou chaste-eyed maid serene,
Till Granta’s sons, from all her sacred bow’rs,
With grateful hand shall weave Pierian flow’rs,
To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy brow,
Enchanting ministress of virtuous wo!