Or blooming under eyes like thine,           

             Whose fond, soft gaze, whose tender tear,           

             Must also, losing power divine,           

             Awake no answering sweetness here.           

                        

             For much of loveliness must sleep,           

             E'en when inspir'd and led by truth;           

             The faithful pencil aims to keep           

             Mildness and innocence and youth.           

                        

            

            

       XVI.     

       To MRS. A.     

             An Hour was before me, no creature more bright, More airy, more joyous, e'er sprang on my sight. To catch and to fetter I instantly tried, And "thou art my slave, pretty vagrant," I cried.           

             I had hold, and securely I thought, of its wing, O! how I shall glory, so lovely a thing To place by the cradle of friendship, and see, With the aid of my captive, if I can be free.           

             Oh! while she is with me, some means may be found To temper the air and to hallow the 

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