With virtues equall'd by her wit alone, - Lord Byron

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses.

All who joy would win
Must share it
- Hapiness was born a twin.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.