86
POEMS.
Tow'rds my boat I gently led her;
Soon it touched my native strand:
There my labour cloathed and fed her,
There I gained her heart and hand.
Still with love my eyes behold her;
Yes, though many a year is o'er,
Still I bless the hour I told her,
—"Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more."—
Soon it touched my native strand:
There my labour cloathed and fed her,
There I gained her heart and hand.
Still with love my eyes behold her;
Yes, though many a year is o'er,
Still I bless the hour I told her,
—"Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more."—
See, she waits me near yon willows!
Swift, my boat, to reach her fly.———
See, her breast my baby pillows,
Transport for a father's eye!
Grant, oh! God, such transports may not
E'er bless those, who seeing pour
Tears from female eye-lids, say not,
—"Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!"—
Swift, my boat, to reach her fly.———
See, her breast my baby pillows,
Transport for a father's eye!
Grant, oh! God, such transports may not
E'er bless those, who seeing pour
Tears from female eye-lids, say not,
—"Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!"—
