To the Hon. Mrs. Norton, the Poetess, on Meeting Her at Frampton House
When first I drew, with melting heart, alone,
(O gifted vot'ry of the tuneful nine,)
Entrancing melody from songs of thine,
Sweet echo'd words of one as yet unknown;
How much I wonder'd what might be the tone
Of her true voice, as yet unansw'ring mine,
And what the hue with which her eyes might shine,
And what the form in which her soul was shown
To sons of men. How busy fancy brought
Before me lineaments of love and grace;
But who can tell what joy was mine at last,
When I beheld the object of my thought,
In bright reality before my face,
And found the fairest of my dreams surpass'd.
(O gifted vot'ry of the tuneful nine,)
Entrancing melody from songs of thine,
Sweet echo'd words of one as yet unknown;
How much I wonder'd what might be the tone
Of her true voice, as yet unansw'ring mine,
And what the hue with which her eyes might shine,
And what the form in which her soul was shown
To sons of men. How busy fancy brought
Before me lineaments of love and grace;
But who can tell what joy was mine at last,
When I beheld the object of my thought,
In bright reality before my face,
And found the fairest of my dreams surpass'd.
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