Of all were thine, nor yet do I repent;
But a dark dream of mingled good and ill
Affects my Bosom and contracts my Will;
And these, it tells me, as I cannot shun,
I fly to Sorrow, to make sure of one.’ 420
Child of my Heart! these boding fears suppress;
They often make, they ever point, Distress.
Tho’ young, yet Heav’n has to [thy] charge confin’d
[The] noble Treasure of a powerful Mind.
These lighter Graces seek not to condemn; }