Poem by Louisa Stuart Costello

Miranda's Song

Ye elves! when spangled starlight gleams,
   That flit beneath the ray,
Till morning darts her magic beams
   And pale night hies away:
Ye know where springs each flow'ret rare,
   The sweetest seek for me:
I'll weave a chaplet rich and fair—
   My father! 'tis for thee!

The flow'rs, the trees, the birds appear
   To wait but on my call;
But he whose power has plac'd them here
   Is dearer far than all:
My thoughts with tender pleasure rest
   On each delight I see;
But all the love that swells in my breast,
    My father, is for thee!

1. The Return to Paraclete
2. Song (I will not ask one glance from thee)
3. November Fifth
4. Song (When others saw thee gay and vain)
5. Lines (I cannot sleep—my nights glide on)

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