[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
Tune of, Logan Water.
–
Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloe.
–
TEll me Hamilla, tell me why
Thou dost from him that loves thee run?
Why from his soft embraces fly,
And all his kind endearments shun?
–
So flies the fawn, with fear oppress’d
Seeking its mother ev’ry where,
It starts at ev’ry empty blast,
And trembles when no danger’s near.
–
And yet I keep thee but in view,
To gaze the glories of thy face,
Nor with a hateful stept pursue,
As age, to rifle every grace.
–
Cease then, dear wildness, cease to toy,
But haste all rivals to outshine,
And grown mature, and ripe for joy,
Leave mama’s arms and come to mine.
– New Words by Different Hands.
