Лукреция Мария Дэвидсон (Lucretia Maria Davidson)

Byron

Written in her fifteenth year.

His faults were great, his virtues less,
His mind a burning lamp of Heaven;
His talents were bestowed to bless,
But were as vainly lost as given.

His was a harp of heavenly sound,
The numbers wild, and bold, and clear;
But ah! some demon, hovering round,
Tuned its sweet chords to Sin and Fear.

His was a mind of giant mould,
Which grasped at all beneath the skies;
And his, a heart, so icy cold,
That virtue in its recess dies.

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