For herself prepared and ready,
(She can read the mystery,)
’Tis a niche in Fame’s high temple,
’Tis her star of destiny.
Years rolled on—that youthful vision
Haunted still the maiden’s brain,
Oft her fainting heart beguiling
Of its toil, and care, and pain;
Onward, upward still she passed,
By Ambition daily fed,