Old woman clothed in Gray/The Bird. A New Song.

THE BIRD. A NEW SONG.

The bird that hears her nestling long,
⁠and flies abroad for food,
Returns impatient through the sky,
⁠to nurse her hallow breed.

The tender mother knows no joy,
⁠but bodes a thousand hams,
And sickens for her darling boy,
⁠while absent from her arms.

Such fondness with impatience joined,
⁠my faithful bosom fire,
Nor forc’d to leave my fair behind,
⁠The Queen of my desire.

The power of verse too languid prove,
⁠all similar in vain
To show ardently I love
⁠or to relieve my pain.

The faint with ardent zeal inspir'd,
⁠for heaven and joys divine
The faint is not with rapture fir'd,
⁠more pure, more warm than mine,

I take what liberty I dare,
⁠'twere impious to say more,
Convey my lodgings to the fair,
⁠The Godess I adore