Tis true — that me , with roses crown'd

'T IS true — that me , with roses crown'd,
The tear of Sympathy has found,
And been at once obey'd;
That Pleasure's light, and Beauty's flower,
Have sunk — when pale Misfortune's hour
Implor'd Compassion's aid.

'Tis true — that in the moral grief ,
I never ask'd or wish'd relief,
Nor envy'd playful ease:
But Love the miracle has wrought,
And Love the feeling bosom taught,
How dearly Pain can please!
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