There is a soft endearing spell,
That language can but faintly tell.
'Tis not the figure, form, nor face,
'Tis not the manner, air, nor grace,
'Tis not the smile nor sparkling eye,
'Tis not the winning look nor sigh.
There is a charm surpassing these,
A pleasing spell-like pleasure's breeze!
A joy that centres in the heart,
And doth its balmy sweets impart!