Long to the world have all the mouths of Fame, O Paganini! thunder'd forth thy name; Nations have vied their plausive voice to raise, And swell the general chorus of thy praise....
Fairest and loveliest of the sun-born train That o'er the varying year alternate reign; Whose eye, soft-beaming with thy father's fire, Fond Nature woos with ever-fresh desire,...
No longer Beauty's many-colour'd robe Adorns the autumnal scene; no longer play The Zephyrs with her tresses; she has fled To happier regions, and has left the year...
Though thou hast seen my locks are gray, Ah! do not, Julia, turn away; Nor, though the bloom of Spring is thine, Disdainfully my love decline. Behold yon wreath! how lovely shows...