O, beautiful, and full of grace!
        If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face
        Could fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne'er behold again
        That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
        Preserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice, the magic of whose tone
        Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,
        Can make my tranced spirit blest.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
        My memory would not cherish less; --
And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam
        Nor mortal language can express.

Adieu, but let me cherish, still,
        The hope with which I cannot part.
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
        But still it lingers in my heart.

And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
        May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid the future pay the past
        With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?