To a Lofty Beauty, from her Poor Kinsman

Fate maid, had I not heard thy baby cries,
Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude,
Thy mazy motions, striving to elude,
Yet wooing still a parent's watchful eyes,
Thy humours, many as the opal's dies,
And lovely all ; — methinks thy scornful mood,
And bearing high of stately womanhood, —
Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize
O'er humble love, had made me sadly fear thee ;
For never sure was seen a royal bride,
Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride —
My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee :
But when I see thee at thy father's side,
Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee.