'Twas her's to lighten care's control,
And raise the drooping, pensive soul.
Her labour past, another breast,
Still lovely woman's, urged his pen—
Pure love was sent to make him blest,
And bid his fancies flow again:
She yielded to his minstrel pride
The heart, the hand to lips denied!
Quick roll'd the years in tranquil peace,
The peace by harmony begun.