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.