“Wit, beauty, goodness, sentiment refin’d,
The brightest genius, with the purest mind;
Quick nerves, to sympathy too nicely strung,
And sportive innocence for ever young;
Gay beaming smiles, and each still varying grace,
Accordant harmony of voice and face;
Sweet chat, that might despairing anguish soothe;
A soul all energy, a heart all truth;—
Give it but wings, ’tis angel, goddess, Elf;
Or add caprice and—Ella—’tis thyself.”