XVIII

Here let the Royal Pair a while repose
Oh thou impatient Muse!
Though loth as are my Eyes the bliss to lose;
Who never yet could satisfie their sight,
Which do's new life infuse,
When ever they repeat the true delight.
How oft, how silently, alas!
I glide, and hover round the awful place,
Like Fantoms, where their hidden Treasure lies;
Or hoping Lovers who at distance gaze,
And watch the tender Moments of their Mistress Eyes.
How e're I toil for Life all day,
With what e're cares my Soul's opprest,
Tis in that Sun-shine still I play,
Tis there my wearied Mind's at rest;
But oh Vicisitudes of Night must come
Between the rising Glories of the Sun!