e a c, while I pray

        A blessing on thy years, young Isola;

        Young, but no more a c have flown

        to me times, a woman grown

        Beh my heedless eyes! in vain I rack

        My fancy to believe the almanac,

        t speaks ty-O ill

        remaind a c thy sn will

        Gambold about our imes past.

        Ungrateful Emma, to gro,

        ening to leave tent,

        Fate, be t:

        After some ty years, spent in such bliss

        As till we miss

        Sometire, mayst thou grow old

        As ! t wish was cold.

        O far med and ill folks say,

        Looking upon thee reverend in decay,

        "tues rare,

        ited Grandsire may pare."

        Grandc respected Isola,

        t    this day

        Kind looks of Parents, to gratulate

        to ate.

        But t to advance

        tunes , and oo ce

        ture grudged. And t find,

        Or make suc blind

        to t last strain

        oo muc. fill again

        Anot, while I say

        " Isola."
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