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The little brilliant, ere it fell,

Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye;

Then, trembling, left its coral cell

The spring of Sensibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light!

In thee the rays of Virtue shine;

More calmly clear, more mildly bright,

Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign restorer of the soul!

Who ever fly'st to bring relief,

When first she feels the rude controul

Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief.

The sage's and the poet's theme,

In every clime, in every age;

Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle dream,

In Reason's philosophic page.

That very

law * which moulds a tear,

And bids it trickle from its source,

That law preserves the earth a sphere,

And guides the planets in their course.

* The law of Gravitation.





While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels,

And the blue vales a thousand joys recall,

See, to the last, last verge her infant steals!

O fly—yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall.

Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare,

And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.

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On thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers

The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew.

Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers;

Thine be the joys to firm attachment due.

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