Beneath myrtle shade, you read over that poets sung & shepherds play’d – posset of
glory, life & bliss unknown. O bright jewel in my aim, I strive to comprehend thee
as thy words declare. Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach. While intrinsic ardor
prompts to write, muses promise to assist my pen, ere yet morn its lovely blushes
spread. From darkest abodes to fairest ethereal light, the enraptured innocent has
wing’d her flight – she feels iron hands of pain no more. Who taught thee conflict
with pow’rs of night, to vanquish darkness in the fields of fight? Arise, my soul, to
praise the monarch of earth & skies, whose goodness & beneficence appear as round
its center moves the rolling year. Celestial muse, raise my mind to seraphic strain –
where each finds her own sacred spring. Let grief no longer dampen devotion’s fire!