To Mrs.

E LIZA ! — till the heart is cold,
Love , such as mine , is never old ;
'Tis thine, as in its youthful days,
When Passion bound the wreath of Praise;
And gave its animated scope,
To Fancy's dream, too proud for Hope.
No feature 's chang'd; — and such a form
Could an old Hermit's bosom warm,
Or change — for so the fable ran —
A wither'd hag — into a man.
But if those charms were all decay'd,
Were those bright orbs eclips'd in shade,
The lustre of that glowing heart
Would a meridian sun impart;
And, mellow'd by the rays of Truth ,
Would smile upon its truant, Youth .
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