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Returns impatient through the sky,
to nurse her callow brood.
The tender mother knows no joy,
but bodes a thousand harms,
And sickens for the darling boy,
while absent from her arms.
Such fondness with impatience join'd,
my faithful bosom fire.
Nor forc'd to leave my fair behind,
the Queen of my desire.
The power of verse too languid prove,
all similies are vain,
To shew how ardently I love,
or to relieve my pain.
The saint with ardent zeal inspir'd,
for heaven and joys 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.
