Classic Poem

The day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet:
Tho' Winter wild, in tempest toil'd,
Ne'er simmer-sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry Line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more — it made thee mine. —

While day and night can bring delight,
Or Nature aught of pleasure give;
While Joys Above, my mind can move,
For Thee and Thee alone I live!
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part;
The iron hand that breaks our Band,
It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart!