Alas! they tell thee---Thou’rt a wretch at home!
O then retire, and weep! Their very woes
Solace the guiltless. Drop the pearly flood
On thy sweet infant, as the FULL-BLOWN rose,
Surcharg’d with dew, bends o’er its neighb’ring BUD.
And ah! that Truth some holy spell might lend
To lure thy wanderer from the syren’s power;
Then bid your souls inseparably blend,
Like two bright dew-drops meeting in a flower.