Lithograph by Eugene Delacroix.]
One glance, one word from thee doth charm me more, Than the world's
Nay! trouble not yourself! A hand so coarse, So rude as mine, how can you
kiss! What constant work at home must I not do perforce! My mother too
Thus, sir, unceasing travel is your lot?
Traffic and duty urge us! With what pain Are we compelled to leave full many
a spot, Where yet we dare not once remain!
In youth's wild years, with vigour crown'd, 'Tis not amiss thus through the