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All, all is hush'd in soft and calm repose,And scarce a zephyr wooes the fragrant rose;And mortal eyes in heavy slumber seal'd,Now trace in dreams the future fate reveal'd.
And is each eye in heavy slumber clos'd?And is each form on tranquil couch repos'd?—Does no rude sorrow banish gentle sleep,And leave the wretch through the long night to weep?Ab, me! from many an eye the dewy charmIs wash'd away by tears, and wild alarm!Remorseless mem'ry holds unwearied sway,And gives to night the restlessness of day.
But who is she, that with her beauteous armsCross'd on her heaving bosom's snowy charms,Thus with quick step and throbbing breast is seen,Wand'ring like airy sprite the dewy green?But she can shed no tear, and breathe no sigh;—See! vacant frenzy flashes in her eye!Oh! why should reason and her happy trainForsake that soul unsullied by a stain?—
Poor Eloiza was no vulgar maid,Though nurs'd by nature in the rural shade;Her face and form were lovely, and her mindWas virtuous, modest, noble, frank, and kind;—No lurking ill her spotless bosom knew;Her virtues many, and her errors few.—And could not beauty, worth, and youth combin'd,Insure their blessings to so pure a mind!—
