I know not thy history—
I never heard thy name,
Until as source of song to me
Thy pictured semblance came.
I see thy face is very fair,
A beauty high and proud,
That .mw-parser-output .wst-tooltip{cursor:help;border-bottom:thin dotted cornflowerblue}.mw-parser-output .wst-tooltip-nodash{border-bottom:none}wold disdain to seek or share
The homage of the crowd.
Upon thy neck is many a gem;
They suit thy bearing well:
Upon thy head a diadem
Might be content to dwell.
Ay, beautiful Patrician thou!
Dost look thy state and style;
For there is pride upon thy brow,
And pride within thy smile.
Thou art amid earth’s fav’rite ones—
Flowers of our fallen soil,
Whose sheltered bloom the rude wind shuns,
Who know not want or toil.
Art thou as lovely as thy face?
Ah, yes! I feel thou art—
It is the inward, dearer grace,
That warms the outward part.
The better lot in life is thine!
Ah! how much dost thou owe
To those who perish and who pine
In life’s sad paths below!
What misery is around thy way—
A misery thou canst aid:
Seek in the winter hut of clay
Where wretchedness is laid.
Where the pale mother turns to weep
O’er food she loathes to share;
Or watches o’er her children’s sleep,
And thinks how pale they are.
Lady! thou may’st to childhood’s cheek
Bring back the early rose;
The heads that bend, the hearts that break,
May owe to you repose.
The dearest blessing fortune hath
Amid such scenes, is found
When smiles, like thine, shed o’er their path
A moral sunshine round.