Happy the feeling from the bosom thrown
In perfect shape (whose beauty Time shall spare
Though a breath made it) like a bubble blywn
For summer pastime into wanton air ;
Happy the thought best likened to a stone
Of the sea-beach, when, polished with nice çare,
Veins it discovers exquisite and rare,
Which for the loss of those moist gleams alone
That tempted first to gather it. If here,
( Friend! such feelings sometimes I present
To thy regard, with thoughts a fortunate,
Then let a hope spring up my heart to cheer
That thou, if not with partial joy elate,
Wilt smile upon this Gift with more than mild content!