THE SWEET WILLIAM. 
107 
And what the peasant’s rest can bless 
Through long and toilsome hours, 
And bid him dream of happiness 
When fate so darkly lowers ? 
’Tis thoughts of woman’s holy love, 
Her smiles of joy and gladness ; 
Coming, with pinions of a dove. 
To soothe his soul from sadness. 
To bid him feel that, e’en on earth, 
Where clashing interests meet. 
For him, with love of holiest birth. 
One gentle heart can heat. 
And, though his future lot should be 
With darker clouds o’ercast, 
Her holy love and constancy 
Unchangingly will last. 
But if posterity’s bright gleam 
His path of life should cheer, 
Thrice deeper will each pleasure seem 
With that beloved one near. 
B. 
