’Tis late—and my Delia now hastens to rest,
Rapt into sweet visions, I wander alone,
Love soothes the fond wishes that glow in my breast,
With transports, to wealth, and to grandeur unknown.
Soft—soft be thy slumbers, dear, innocent fair,
Descend, smiling peace, on my bosom’s delight,
Hope sheds her pure beams on each long nourish’d care,
As day brightly dawns on the shadows of night.
Reclin’d on her pillow, now mute is that voice,
Whose sounds my affection insensibly stole,