Oh, Fortune! I have seen thee shed
A plenteous show'r of treasure down
On many a weak and worthless head,
On those who but deserv'd thy frown.
And I have heard, in lonely shade,
Her sorrows hapless Merit pour;
And thou hast pass'd the drooping maid,
To give some pamper'd fav'rite more.
But tho’ so cold, or strangely wild,
It seems that worth can sometimes move;
Thou hast on gentle Emma smil'd,
And thou hast smil'd where all approve:—
For Nature form'd her gen'rous heart
With ev'ry virtue, pure, refin'd;
And wit and taste, and grace and art,
United to illume her mind.
So dew-drops fall on some rare flow'r,
That merits all their fost'ring care,
As tho’ they knew that, by their pow'r,
Grateful‘ twould wider scent the air.