Yes, in this path, along the mount,
Each rosy morn a maid appears,
To yon lonely cot advancing,
A basket on her arm she bears.
Two tender infants, and their mother,
Are by her constant bounty fed:
A helpless widow, there residing,
From her receives her daily bread.
See! where she comes,—of all the graces,
The youngest and the fairest too;
Her cheeks, with sweetest blushes glowing,
Are moist’ned with the morning dew.
I haste, with fragrant airs, so cooling,
To fan her tender glowing cheek,—
And kiss the pearly drops, while falling
From her blue eyes, so chaste and meek.[A49]
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Footnote A49:
Here Dr. Rittenhouse’s ends: The remainder of the versification is
continued by another hand.
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