Eyes, where Delight in careless luxury
Lay nestling and indulging blissful thoughts;
With every day-dream, for whose food the world
Offers magnificence and loveliness;
All graceful motions, and all graceful forms.
The ripened nectar of delicious sounds,
The social haunt--the lonely quiet hour;
The Hopes embodying innocent and gay
As those of Childhood, whose soft footstep past
Not long before, not yet forgotten, by!

The letter, dearest, blotted with thy tears,
In answer to a caution--fear--express'd
By much too strongly--often gives my heart
A secret pang--but of remorse for nought
But paining thee--too tender to endure
The thought that self-indulgence, or neglect,
Causing increas'd disquietude and care,
Might, by increased disquietude and care,
Open the grave for him who gave thee birth!
How often and how warmly did'st thou ask,
With epithets of fondness, how I dar'd
Imagine such a horror, and to one
Present, who would have died, or borne extremes
Of any hard endurance, not to give
The slightest anguish to a parent's breast!
Alas! the cruel rashness of reproof--
The busy vigilance of human pride--
Like a too eager partizan, may strike,
To ward off danger from his chieftain's head,