This day among the faithful plac'd
       &nbspAnd fed with fontal manna,
O with maternal title grac'd,
       &nbspDear Anna's dearest Anna!

While others wish thee wise and fair,
       &nbspA maid of spotless fame,
I'll breathe this more compendious prayer—
       &nbspMay'st thou deserve thy name!

Thy mother's name, a potent spell,
       &nbspThat bids the Virtues hie
From mystic grove and living cell,
       &nbspConfess'd to Fancy's eye;

Meek Quietness without offence;
       &nbspContent in homespun kirtle;
True Love; and True Love's Innocence,
       &nbspWhite Blossom of the Myrtle!

Associates of thy name, sweet Child!
       &nbspThese Virtues may'st thou win;
With face as eloquently mild
       &nbspTo say, they lodge within.

So, when her tale of days all flown,
       &nbspThy mother shall be miss'd here;
When Heaven at length shall claim its own
       &nbspAnd Angels snatch their Sister;

Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,
       &nbspMay gaze with stifled breath;
And oft, in momentary trance,
       &nbspForget the waste of death.

Even thus a lovely rose I've view'd
       &nbspIn summer-swelling pride;
Nor mark'd the bud, that green and rude
       &nbspPeep'd at the rose's side.

It chanc'd I pass'd again that way
       &nbspIn Autumn's latest hour,
And wond'ring saw the selfsame spray
       &nbspRich with the selfsame flower.

Ah fond deceit! the rude green bud
       &nbspAlike in shape, place, name,
Had bloom'd where bloom'd its parent stud,
       &nbspAnother and the same!