[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!
