O'er field and plain, in childhood's artless days,
⁠Thou sprangest with me on many a spring-morn fair,
⁠"For such a daughter, with what pleasing care,
Would I, as father, happy dwellings raise?"

And when thou on the world didst cast thy gaze,
⁠Thy joy was then in household toils to share.
⁠"Why did I trust her, why she trust me e'er?
For such a sister, how I Heaven should praise!"

Nothing can now the beauteous growth retard;
⁠Love's glowing flame within my breast is fanned.
⁠⁠Shall I embrace her form, my grief to end?
Thee as a queen must I, alas, regard:
⁠So high above me placed thou seemest to stand;
⁠⁠Before a passing look I meekly bend.