My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light