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
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