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SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Aid him,—and me, too, aid!
Oh! 'tis not well, this earthly love's excess!
On thy weak child is laid
The burden of too deep a tenderness.
Too much o'er him is pour'd
My being's hope—scarce leaving Heaven a part;
Too fearfully adored,
Oh! make not him the chastener of my heart!
I tremble with a sense
Of grief to be;—I hear a warning low—
Sweet mother! call me hence!
This wild idolatry must end in woe.
The troubled joy of life,
Love's lightning happiness, my soul hath known;
And, worn with feverish strife,
Would fold its wings;—take back, take back thine own!
