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Of floating jet, that circles round me — why 
To view my liigh-wrought beauty dost thou sigh? 
True, I have nobler gifts. The lofty spirit 
Of a long line of high ones, I inherit; 
And from the depths of feeling, and of thought, 
Bright, bright creations has my fancy caught, 
And imaged forth in all the wild, rich glow 
Which painting breathes upon the spirit’s dream, 
While music wakes her soothing soft and low 
At my light bidding — like a ’whelming stream 
Bushing to meet my fingers’ ardent touch, 
She throngs the liarp-strings which I love so much; 
Yes! these are mine—high gifts — Yet, fair one, 
why 
Bor these should thy pure bosom breathe a sigh ? 
Are they not all? Ah, wherefore ask the tale, 
Of blessings which have made my young cheek 
pale ? 
