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Oft, oft methinks, the while with thee, I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear And dedicated name, I hear A promise and a mystery, A pledge of more than passing life, Yea, in that very name of Wife!

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep! A feeling that upbraids the heart With happiness beyond desert, That gladness half requests to weep! Nor bless I not the keener sense And unalarming turbulence

Of transient joys, that ask no sting From jealous fears, or coy denying; But born beneath Love's brooding wing, And into tenderness soon dying, Wheel out their giddy moment, then Resign the soul to love again;--

A more precipitated vein Of notes, that eddy in the flow Of smoothest song, they come, they go, And leave their sweeter understrain, Its own sweet self--a love of Thee That seems, yet cannot greater be!

? 1802.