“’Deserter? hope not thus to scape! 
    Thy guardian still, in every shape,
    Shall covertly those steps pursue,
    And keep thy welfare still in view! 
    More fondly hovering than the dove
    Shall be my ever watchful love! 
    Than the harp’s tones more highly wrought,
    Shall linger each tenacious thought! 
    Apt, active shall my spirit be
    In care for her who flies from me!’

      “And, it had been indeed a crime
    To leave him, had I known the time,
    The fearful length of such delay,
    Protracting but from day to day,
    Which reach’d at length two tedious years
    Of dark surmises and of fears!

      “How often, on a rocky steep,
    Would I upon his summons keep
    An anxious watch:  there patient stay
    Till light’s thin lines have died away
    In the smooth circle of the main,
    And render’d all expectance vain.

      “At the blue, earliest glimpse of morn,
    Pleas’d with the lapse of time, return;
    For now, perchance, I might not fail,
    To see the long expected sail! 
    Then, as it blankly wore away,
    Courted the fleeting eye to stay! 
    As they regardless mov’d along,
    Wooed the slow moments in a song. 
    The time approaches! but the Hours
      With languid steps advance,
    And loiter o’er the summer flowers,
      Or in the sun-beams dance! 
    Oh! haste along! for, lingering, ye
    Detain my Eustace on the sea!

    “Hope, all on tiptoe, does not fail
      To catch a cheering ray! 
    And Fancy lifts her airy veil,
      In wild and frolic play! 
    Kind are they both, but cruel ye,
    Detaining Eustace on the sea!

      “Sometimes within my cot I staid,
    And with my precious infant play’d. 
    ‘Those eyes,’ I cried, ’whose gaze endears,
    And makes thy mother’s flow in tears! 
    Those tender lips, whose dimpled stray
    Can even chase suspense away! 
    Those artless movements, full of charms,
    Those graceful, rounded, rosy arms,
    Shall soon another neck entwine,
    And waken transports fond as mine! 
    That magic laugh bespeaks thee prest
    As surely to another breast! 
    That name a father’s voice shall melt,
    Those looks within his heart be felt! 
    Drinking thy smiles, thy carols, he
    Shall weep, for very love, like me!

      “Those who in children see their heirs,
    Have numberless, diverging cares! 
    Less pure for them affection glows,—­
    Less of intrinsic joy bestows,
    Less mellowing, less enlivening, flows! 
    Oh! such not even could divine
    A moment’s tenderness like mine! 
    Had he been destin’d to a throne,
    His little darling self alone,
    Bereft of station, grandeur, aught
    But life and virtue, love and thought,
    Could wake one anxious thrill, or share
    One hallow’d pause’s silent prayer!