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Talk not to me of savages From Afric's burning sun, No savage e'er can rend my heart As, Jessy, thou hast done. But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, A Mutual faith to plight, Not even to view the heavenly choir Would be so blest a sight. Fill me with the rosy wine, Call a toast - a toast divine; Give the Poet's darling flame, Lovely Jessy be the name; Then thou mayest freely boast, Thou hast given a peerless toast. Say, sages, what's the charm on earth Can turn Death's dart aside? It is not purity and worth, Else Jessy had not died. But rarely seen since Nature's birth, The natives of the sky; Yet still one seraph's left on earth, For Jessy did not die.
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