May books and nature be their early joy!
His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.
Free as a bird to settle where I will.
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light