(Written in her thirteenth year.)

Fancy, sweet and truant sprite,
Steals on wings, as feathers light,
Draws a veil o'er Reason's eye,
And bids the guardian senses fly.

Soft she whispers to the mind,
Come, and trouble leave behind:
She banishes the fiend Despair,
And shuts the eyes of waking Care.

Then, o'er precipices dark,
Where never reached the wing of lark,
Fearing no harm, she dauntless flies,
Where rocks on rocks dread frowning rise.

When Autumn shakes his hoary head,
And scatters leaves at every tread;
Fancy stands with list'ning ear,
Nor starts, when shrieks affrighted Fear.

There's music in the rattling leaf,
But 't is not for the ear of Grief;
There's music in the wind's hoarse moan,
But 't is for Fancy's ear alone.