On Sensibility

Sensibility, how charming,Thou, my friend, canst truly tell;But distress, with horrors arming,Thou hast also known too well!

Fairest flower, behold the lily,Blooming in the sunny ray:Let the blast sweep o'er the valley,See it prostrate on the clay.

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest,Telling o'er his little joys;Hapless bird! a prey the surestTo each pirate of the skies.

Dearly bought the hidden treasureFiner feelings can bestow;Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasureThrill the deepest notes of woe.