secure, so happy I, That, often at the very last, I feel not that my dream is past. The little hour of bliss I spend, With thee, my chosen, only friend! That transient hour the heart sustains, Which poverty has bound in chains!           

             And for this dear, this precious hour, I would not, if I had the power, Exchange a worldling's life of ease, Whom all around him seek to please. I have no other friend beside, But here I safely may confide. Suspicion ne'er the bosom stains,             Which poverty has bound in chains!           

             How oft I wonder at my lot! How oft are all but thee forgot! While in this half-despairing breast, Love builds a little, quiet nest, To hover o'er with joyous wing, Nay, sometimes soar aloft and sing!             'Tis this alone the heart sustains, Which poverty has bound in chains!           

            

            

       IV.     

             "Come, Edmund, now the sun goes down,           

             Thy many wanderings tell!           

             Say, after all thine eyes have seen,           

             If home appears so well!"           

                        

             "So well! alas! ye do not know           

             How absence can endear!           

             In every hill, in every tree,           

             A thousand charms appear.           

                        

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