Our limits compel us to break off once more, which is a source of regret, especially when our path is strewn with such gems as these:—
A gentle star lights up their solitude
And lends fair hues to all created things;
And dreams alone of beings pure and good
Hover around their hearts with angel wings—
Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture springs.
Here is a beautiful apostrophe—
Oh Nature! by impassioned hearts alone
Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar mind
Sees but the shadow of a power unknown;