TO MY WIFE.
BY LINDLEY MURRAY.
When on thy bosom I recline, Enraptur'd still to call thee mine, To call thee mine for life, I glory in the sacred ties, Which modern wits and fools despise, Of Husband and of Wife.
One mutual flame inspires our bliss; The tender look, the melting kiss, Even years have not destroyed; Some sweet sensation, ever new, Springs up and proves the maxim true, That love can ne'er be cloy'd.
Have I a wish?—'tis all for thee, Hast thou a wish?—'tis all for me, So soft our moments move, That angels look with ardent gaze, Well pleas'd to see our happy days, And bid us live—and love.
If cares arise—and cares will come— Thy bosom is my softest home, I'll lull me there to rest; And is there aught disturbs my fair? I'll bid her sigh out every care, And lose it in my breast.
Have I a wish?—'tis all her own; All hers and mine are roll'd in one— Our hearts are so entwined, That, like the ivy round the tree, Bound up in closest amity, 'Tis death to be disjoined.
LAMENT.
BY MARY E. BROOKS.