(Written in her fifteenth year.)

Am I in fairy land? or tell me, pray,
To what love-lighted bower I've found my way?
Sure luckless wight was never more beguiled
In woodland maze, or closely-tangled wild.

And is this Cupid's realm? if so, good bye!
Cupid, and Cupid's votaries, I fly;
No offering to his altar do I bring,
No bleeding heart — or hymeneal ring,

What though he proudly marshals his array
Of conquered hearts, still bleeding in his way;
Of sighs, of kisses sweet, of glances sly,
Playing around some darkly-beauteous eye?

What though the rose of beauty opening wide,
Blooms but for him, and fans his lordly pride?
What though his garden boasts the fairest flower
That ever dew-drop kissed, or pearly shower;

Still, Cupid, I'm no votary to thee;
Thy torch of light will never blaze for me;
I ask no glance of thine, I ask no sigh;
I brave thy fury, and thus boldly fly!

Adieu, then, and for evermore, adieu!
Ye poor entangled ones, farewell to you!
And, O ye powers! a hapless mortal prays
For guidance through this labyrinthine maze.