Bend o’er the traces, blame each lingering Dove,
And give me to the bosom of my Love!
My gentle Love, caressing and carest,
With heaving heart shall carol me to rest!
Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes—
Lull with fond woe, and medicine me with sighs,
While finely-flushing float her kisses meek,
Like melted rubies o’er my pallid cheek.”
Here he is half laughing at his own tendency, but he had only transitory thoughts of checking it. In “Reflections on having left a Place of Retirement,” he speaks of dreaming,—
“On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart