Tender tremors touch the bosom

Tender tremors touch the bosom, As the gentle hour moves by; Expectation, almost weeping, Tip-toe stands in either eye.

Ah! what precious perturbations Haunt the fancy of a friend; Half an hour, of watchful waiting, Seems a period without end.

When the clouds hang dark and heavy, Disappointment o'er me low'rs: But as fairer fleeces favour, Hope bestows her promis'd flow'rs.

Soon again soft fears assail me, Since the visit is delay'd; Then—ah then — tis apprehension, Of a thousand things afraid.

Haply sickness may detain, her— Thus imagination cries: Haply pain, or haply peril— Then this bosom bleeding lies,

Ev'ry step that strikes the pavement, Ev'ry summons at the door; Ev'ry sound of passing coaches, Warm and chill these. pulses more.

Now I dread th' excusing message, Now I dread some dire disease; Too much wind, or too much sunshine, Robs alike this breast of ease.,

Heav'n must make a morn on purpose, To compose the gentle heart; Zephyrs bland must fan the season, Airs their softest balms impart.

Not a breath too much or little, Not too hot or cold a ray, Must impede the expectation, When tis Emma's meeting day.

Yet perchance, these lovely flutt'rings Beauteous fears, and kind distress, Do but serve the more to heighten Tender Henry's happiness.

When the fair indeed approaches Every rosy terror's o'er; After little scatter'd cloudings, Sunbeams only bless us more.

Thus the flow'r, which blows at morning, Opens more and more till noon; Then, as chilling eve comes onward, Ev'ry colour seems to swoon.

But perhaps, to-morrow's radiance May rise lovelier from the rain, And the bloom which 'erst did languish Shall revive to bloom again.