Classic Poem

Now Phoebus, dear Coz, gives all Nature to smile
In this mountainous vale of our birth,
And your beautiful nursling, the Pride of the Nile,
Again rears her form from the earth!

Ah, little we thought, when we marked the tear steal
Down your cheek as you bade us adieu,
That its delicate bosom the plant should reveal
Two summers unnoted by you!

Men tell you that form, so attractively fair,
Appears in the Lily, portrayed, —
That the loveliest flower may be proud to compare
With the white-armed and elegant maid, —

And I cannot but own the comparison just —
How just I reflect with a sigh,
When I see your fair image return to the dust,
And think all such beauties must die!

But yours is a soul that in purity vies
With the exquisite flower we commend! —
A soul rich like that can with dignity rise,
With graceful humility bend!

Ah! return with those charms to delight us, dear Maid,
Nor continue forgetful to roam,
Content, as your rival to bloom in the shade,
And spend all your sweetness at home!