Let others sing of deeds of arms
Of lovers’ joys or love’s alarms
I choose a milder, better lay,
And sing of Ellen’s natal day.
That morning rose in splendor bright
On which her eyes first view’d the light
Aurora deck’d in Tyrian hues
Foretold the richness of her Muse.
The day pass’d on without a cloud
Foretold her mind — serene and good
The evening came — the lustrous spheres
The brightness told, of future years
And oh my Ellen may they be
Prophetic still of good to thee.