The Morning Call. To The Honourable Lady--------.

By Thomas Gent

I dare not look at those dear eyes, The sun was never half so bright, There surely more of rapture lies Than ever bless'd a mortal's sight. In thy sweet face I see impress'd Ten thousand thousand charms divine, The sunbeams of thy guileless breast Like Heaven's eternal mercies shine! Angel of love! life's endless joy, Our hope at morn, our evening prayer; The bliss above would have alloy, Unless dear--------- thou wert there! Oh! Woman--what a charm hast thou Our rebel nature thus to tame: We ever must adore and bow. While virtue guards thy holy fane! Werthing.