Imputing motives she would blush to own,—
Her spirit, safe from storms and rude alarms,
Is too susceptible to wounds like these;
But that calm face will ne'er reveal to thee,
Nay, from her dearest friends she'll most conceal,
The bitter anguish they can measure not.
Then do not say her tranquil brow is tame.
A passive soul hath ne'er the dignity
That sits, a queen, upon her passive face;
'Tis nobler far to rule the spirit realm,