From thought's weary burden, oh give him relief!
Take mem'ries of anguish and prospects of danger,
The future's dull care and the past's heavy grief.
"Sweet friend of our childhood, thou strewest with flowers
The pillow where infancy rests her calm head,
When weary with sporting through long happy hours,
With thee for her angel, she seeks the soft bed.
"Coy visitant, come! We prize thee more highly,
In years more mature when we've tried the world's truth;
Why com'st thou so rarely? why fly'st thou so shyly?