If destined to exist alone,
And ne'er call woman's heart his own!

My mother!--At that holy name,
Within my bosom there's a gush
Of feeling, which no time can tame--
A feeling, which, for years of fame,
I would not, could not, crush!
And sisters!--ye are dear as life;
But when I look upon my wife,
My heart-blood gives a sudden rush,
And all my fond affections blend
In mother--sisters--wife and friend!

Yes, woman's love is free from guile,
And pure as bright Aurora's ray;
The heart will melt before her smile,
And base-born passions fade away!
Were I the monarch of the earth,
Or master of the swelling sea,
I would not estimate their worth,
Dear woman, half the price of thee.





Rosabel.