English poem
THE CHARMS of MELODY, SONG 59
by Anonymous
The bird, that hears her nestlings cry, And flies abroad for food, Returns impatient through the sky, To nurse her callow brood; The tender mother knows no joy, But bodes a thousand harms; And sickens for her darling boy, When absent from her arms.
Such fondness, with impatience join'd, My faithful bosom fires— Now forc'd to leave my fair behind, The queen of my desires. The pow'rs of verse too languid prove, All similes are vain, To shew how ardently I love, Or to relieve my pain.
The saint with fervent zeal inspir'd For heav'n and joy divine— The saint is not with rapture fir'd, More pure, more warm than mine. I take what liberty I dare: 'Twere impious to say more. Convey my longings to the fair, The goddess I adore.