No shouts attend the warrior who returns
To claim the palm of uncontested fields.
But banish lawless wishes from thy soul,
While yet my hate or love is undeclar’d;
Perhaps, ere many years in circles roll,
Thoul’t think Eliza but a poor reward.
For, oh! my kisses ne’er shall teem with art,
My faithful bosom form but one design—
To study well the wife’s, the mother’s art,
And learn to keep thee, ere I make thee mine.