A basket on her arm she bears.
Two tender infants, and their mother,
Are by her constant bounty fed:
A helpless widow, there residing,
From her receives her daily bread.
See! where she comes,—of all the graces,
The youngest and the fairest too;
Her cheeks, with sweetest blushes glowing,
Are moist’ned with the morning dew.
I haste, with fragrant airs, so cooling,