“Well knows he how, in history’s every page,
    The laurell’d chief, the monarch on his throne,
    The poet and the sage,
    Favourites of fortune, or for virtue known,
    Were cursed by evil stars, in loves debased,
    Soulless and vile, their hearts, their fame, to waste: 
    While I, for him alone,
    From all the lovely ladies of the earth,
    Chose one, so graced with beauty and with worth,
    The eternal sun her equal ne’er beheld. 
    Such charm was in her life,
    Such virtue in her speech with music rife,
    Their wondrous power dispell’d
    Each vain and vicious fancy from his heart,
    —­A foe I am indeed, if this a foeman’s part!

    “Such was my anger, these my hate and slights,
    Than all which others could bestow more sweet;
    Evil for good I meet,
    If thus ingratitude my grace requites. 
    So high, upon my wings, he soar’d in fame,
    To hear his song, fair dames and gentle knights
    In throngs delighted came. 
    Among the gifted spirits of our time
    His name conspicuous shines; in every clime
    Admired, approved, his strains an echo find. 
    Such is he, but for me
    A mere court flatterer who was doom’d to be,
    Unmark’d amid his kind,
    Till, in my school, exalted and made known
    By her, who, of her sex, stood peerless and alone!

    “If my great service more there need to tell,
    I have so fenced and fortified him well,
    That his pure mind on nought
    Of gross or grovelling now can brook to dwell;
    Modest and sensitive, in deed, word, thought,
    Her captive from his youth, she so her fair
    And virtuous image press’d
    Upon his heart, it left its likeness there: 
    Whate’er his life has shown of good or great,
    In aim or action, he from us possess’d. 
    Never was midnight dream
    So full of error as to us his hate! 
    For Heaven’s and man’s esteem
    If still he keep, the praise is due to us,
    Whom in its thankless pride his blind rage censures thus!

    “In fine, ’twas I, my past love to exceed,
    Who heavenward fix’d his hope, who gave him wings
    To fly from mortal things,
    Which to eternal bliss the path impede;
    With his own sense, that, seeing how in her
    Virtues and charms so great and rare combined,
    A holy pride might stir
    And to the Great First Cause exalt his mind,
    (In his own verse confess’d this truth we see,)
    While that dear lady whom I sent to be
    The grace, the guard, and guide
    Of his vain life”—­But here a heart-deep groan
    I sudden gave, and cried,
    “Yes! sent and snatch’d her from me.”  He replied,
    “Not I, but Heaven above, which will’d her for its own!”