SONG.
[Enjoy, my child, the balmy sleep]
I
Enjoy, my child, the balmy sleep,
Which o'er thy form new beauty throws;
And long thy tranquil spirit keep
A stranger to thy mother's woes!
Tho' in distress,
I feel it less,
While gazing on thy sweet repose.
II
Condemn'd to pangs like inward fire,
That thro' my injur'd bosom roll,
How would my heart in death desire
Relief from fortune's hard coutroul,
Did not thy arms
And infant charms
To earth enchain my anxious soul!
III
Flow fast, my tears!—by you reliev'd,
I vent my anguish thus unknown;
But cease, ere ye can be perceiv'd
By this dear child, to pity prone,
Whose tender heart
Would seize a part
In grief, that should be all my own.
IV
Our cup of woe, which angels fill,
Perchance it is my lot to drain;
While that of joy, unmix'd with ill,
May thus, my child, for thee remain;
If thou art free,
(So Heaven decree!)
I bless my doom of double pain.
