Those are the features, those the smiles,
That first engag'd my virgin heart:
I feel the pencil'd image true,
I feel the mimic pow'r of art.

For ever on my soul engrav'd
His glowing cheek, his manly mien;
I need not thee, thou painted shade,
To tell me what my Love has been.

O dearer now, tho' bent with age,
Than in the pride of blooming youth!
I knew not then his constant heart,
I knew not then his matchless truth.

Full many a year, at random tost,
The spot of many an adverse gale,
Together, hand in hand, we've stray'd
O'er dreary hill, and lonely vale.

Hope only flattered to betray,
Her keenest shafts misfortune shot:
In spite of prudence, spite of care,
Dependence was our bitter lot.

Ill can'st thou bear the sneer of wealth,
Averted looks, and rustic scorn;
For thou wert born to better hopes,
And bright rose thy vernal morn.

Thy ev'ning hours to want expos'd,
I cannot, cannot bear to see:
Were but thy honest heart at ease,
I care not what becomes of me.

But tho', my Love, the winds of woe
Beat cold upon thy silver hairs,
Thy ANNA'S bosom still is warm;
Affection still shall soothe thy cares.

And Conscience, with clouded ray,
The cottage of our age will cheer;
Friendship will lift our humble latch,
And Pity pour her healing tear.