Song XL., p.287.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

SEE, see, she wakes, Sabina wakes, 

And now the sun begins to rise; 

Less glorious is the morn that breaks 

From his bright beams, than her fair eyes. 


With light united, day they give; 

But different fates e’er night fulfil: 

How many by this warmth will live! 

How many will her coldness kill! 

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