306
TO MRS. MARISSAL:
1779.
Whither, whither, wearied dove,
Wilt thou fly to seek thy rest?
Beat with many a heavy storm,
Where repose thy tender breast?
Hither, hither, gentle dove,
Bend thy flight and build thy home
Here repose thy tender breast,
Fix thy foot, and never roam.
Welcome, welcome, soft-eyed dove,
To the sheltering low-roofed cot,
Leave the splendid city's throng,
Meekly kiss thy quiet lot.
