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dedication.
Nor did the sportive zephyr, as it flew
Through vales where Flora's modest train repose,
Or the bright meadow spangled o'er with dew,
From Morn's first blush to Evening's fragrant close,
Fan with its wing, than thee, a fairer rose!
Such wert thou, when the natal Genius stood
Beside thy couch, and wav'd his wand, and smil'd;
His bright eye shed of light a glittering flood,
Half didst thou fear that aspect strange and wild,
As with immortal hand he touch'd th' unconscious child!

"Fear not," he cried, "my office is to bless!
Which of the toys, that mortals blessings name,
Shall deck thy babe? be thou the arbitress!
The gift be thine, of Beauty, Wealth, or Fame—
Mine be the task to grant, and thine to claim!"
Just then a crystal mirror on thine eye
Reflects a pallid cheek, a languid frame—