How memory, pensive, 'reft of hope, attends
The exile's path, and bids him fear new friends.
Long may the garland blend its varying hue
With thy bright tresses, and bud ever new
With all spring's odours; with spring's light be drest,
Inhale pure fragrance from thy virgin breast!
And when thou find'st that youth and beauty fly,
As heavenly meteors from our dazzled eye,
Still may the garland shed perfume, and shine,
While Laura's mind and Sappho's heart are thine.