As we cheered to the new year,
That was supposed be the start of gear,
But Alas! we were embraced by an unwelcoming fear,
Fear of mingling, for not to shed tears, ...
In this mimic form of a matron in years,
How plainly the pencil of Denner appears!
The matron herself, in whose old age we see
Not a trace of decline, what a wonder is she!
No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging low,
No wrinkle, or deep-furrow-d frown on the brow!
Her forehead indeed is here circled around
With locks like the ribbon with which they are bound;
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