My Peggy’s Face

My Peggy’s face, my Peggy’s form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy’s worth, my Peggy’s mind,
Might charm the first of humankind.
I love my Peggy’s angel air,
Her face so truly heavn’ly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy’s heart.

The lily’s hue, the rose’s die,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway,
Who but knows they will decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The gen’rous purpose nobly dear,
The gentle look that Rage disarms,
These are all Immortal charms.