With delicate Mimosa’s sense endued,
Who shrinks instinctive from a hand too rude;
Or, like the Anagallis, prescient flower,
Shuts her soft petals at the approaching shower.
Sweet child of sickly Fancy!—her of yore
From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore;
And, while ’midst lakes and mountains wild he ran,
Full of himself, and shunn’d the haunts of man,
Taught her o’er each lone vale and Alpine steep
To lisp the story of his wrongs, and weep;