Her riches to the stores of Art,
And added to the vigorous mind
The soft, the sympathising heart.
‘Come then—‘ere yet the morning ray
Has drunk the dew that gems your crest,
And drawn your balmiest sweets away;
O come and grace my Anna’s breast.
‘O! I should think—that fragrant bed
Might I but hope with you to share—[[54]]
Years of anxiety repaid