Psyche, and other poems — page 158: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

146 But one dear object every wish confines, Her spouse is promised in that bower of rest ; And shall the sun, that now so cheerful shines, Indeed behold her to his bosom prest, And in his heavenly smiles of fondness blest ? Oh! ’tis too much !—exhausted life she fears Will struggling leave her agitated breast, Ere to her longing eyes his form appears, ' Or the soft hand of Love shall wipe away her tears. Oh | how impatience gains upon the soul When the long promised hour of joy draws near ! How slow the tardy moments seem to roll! What spectres rise of inconsistent fear! To the fond doubting | heart its hopes appear Too brightly fair, too sweet to realize ; All seem but day-dreams of delight too. dear | Strange hopes and fears i in painful contest rise, While the scarce trusted bliss seems but to cheatthe eyes: But safely anchored in the happy port, Led by her knight the golden sands she prest: His heart beat high, his panting breath heaved Shore And sighs proclaim his agitated breast Ry some important secret thought opprest : “At length,” he cries, “behold the fated spring | * Yon rugged cliff conceals the fountain blest, “ (Dark rocks its crystal source o -ershadowing,) ! * And Constance swift for thee the destined urn shalt bring,” Comicbooks;com