AY, which
Merits the highest reward?
With none contend I,
But I will give
To the aye-changing,
Wondrous daughter of Jove.
His best-beloved offspring.
Sweet Phantasy.
For unto
Hath he
All the fancies which
To none allow'd
Saving himself;
Now he takes his
In the mad one.
She may, crowned with roses,
With staff twined round with lilies,
Roam thro' flow'ry valleys,
Rule the butterfly-people,
And soft-nourishing
With bee-like
Drink from the blossom:
Or else she
With fluttering
And gloomy
Sigh in the
Round rocky cliffs,
And thousand-hued.
Like morn and even.
Ever changing,
Like moonbeam's light,
To mortals appear.
Let us all, then,
Adore the Father!
The old, the mighty,
Who such a
Ne'er-fading
Deigns to
To perishing mortals!
To us
Doth he unite her,
With heavenly bonds,
While he commands her,in joy and sorrow,
As a true
Never to fly us.
All the
Races so
Of life-teeming earth.
In children so rich.
Wander and
In vacant enjoyment,
And 'mid the dark
Of
Restricted life,—Bow'd by the
Yoke of Necessity.
But unto us
Hath his most versatile,
Most cherished
Granted,—what joy!
Lovingly greet
As a beloved one!
Give her the
Place in our home!
And oh, may the
Stepmother
Her gentle
Ne'er seek to harm!
Yet know I her sister,
The older, sedater,
Mine own silent friend;
Oh, may she never,
Till life's lamp is quench'd,
Turn away from me,—That noble inciter,
Comforter,—Hope!
