(Writtten in her thirteenth year.)

Why that blush on Ella's cheek,
What doth the flitting wand'rer seek?
Doth passion's black'ning tempest scowl,
To agitate my Ella's soul?

Return, sweet wand'rer, fear no harm;
The heart which Ella's breast doth warm,
Is virtue's calm, serene retreat;
And ne'er with passion's storm did beat.

Return, and calmly rest, till love
Shall thy sweet efficacy prove;
Then come, and thy loved place resume,
And fill that cheek with youthful bloom.

A blush of nature charms the heart
More than the brilliant tints of art;
They please awhile, and please no more —
We hate the things we loved before.

But no unfading tints were those,
Which to my Ella's cheek arose;
They please the raptured heart, and fly
Before they pall the gazing eye.,

'T was not the blush of guilt or shame,
Which o'er my Ella's features came;
'T was she, who fed the poor distressed,
'T was she the indigent had blessed;

For her their prayers to heaven were raised,
On her the grateful people gazed;
'T was then the blush suffused her cheek,
Which told what words can never speak.