When the blest firmament unruffled is,
And sol’s fair consort hastens forth to please;
When the celestial vault is most serene,
And its ethereal wanderers are seen;
Such were the moments Jane could best impart
The silent impulse of her tender heart;
And those the moments that she loved the best—
Preparatory to her going to rest,
For then her orisons ascended high,
And she in peace could close her weary eye.
But when the time came on that Jane could trace
The weeks, the days, the hours, when the blest face
Of her dear father she again would see—
She pass’d her evenings far more pleasantly,
And chatted freely—talk’d about the flowers,
The lovely groves, the avenues, and bowers,
The lakes, and such-like things,—oh, yes! and then
She’d play, or sing to some p’rhaps favourite strain—
These words—