LXXIX.
Slowly she oped her silken-lidded eyes,
As night steals from the virgin blue of morn,
Gazing on him she loved, in sweet surprise,
Thus tenderly within his bosom borne;
Whilst clouded Memory through old time flies,
Sinking where she from that dear breast was torn.
Ah! blessed future never snatch her thence,
But sun the visions of her innocence.