My Soul can ne’er forsake her,
And all I feel, still bears the Seal
Of lovely Molly Dacre!
Whene’er her course in chaise or horse
Conveyed her to our city,
How did I gaze, in bliss’d amaze
To catch her smile of pity;
And round her door the night I wore,
Still mute as any Quaker,
With hope-fed Zeal, one glance to steal