Watch over his daughter, and seemed to admire
His lovely and beautiful charge, but I’ve wept.
My mother lies by him—blessed saint of the skies!
Remembrance returns thee; how gentle and meek;
I behold thee when youth filled with radiance thine eyes,
And beauty and health were illuming thy cheek;
When thy delicate form was elastic as air,
When thy bosom was white as the Parian’s glow,
When thy beautiful ringlets of long, flowing hair,
In sable threads sprinkled thy forehead of snow.