How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.

He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.

Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.