Unless they’re put oft to the fortieth year.
To sweeten the cup of the bitter we’re drinking,
And mourn o’er the corpse when the spirit has gone,
To soften our fears when hope is fast sinking,
Are to woman allotted, sad tasks! to be done.
Oh! give me a home with a fair English maiden,
Who’ll beguile the dull days of my sojourning here;
While blest with a wife and two rosy young children,
I’ll leave others to wed in their fortieth year.
Cheltenham. January, 1850.