TO
A
WANDERING
HUSBAND
,
FROM
A
DESERTED
WIFE
.
Say
,
where
is
that
charming
repose
That
so
lately
illumin'd
my
breast
,
Like
the
sun
that
so
chearfully
shone
,
And
at
eve
sooth'd
me
kindly
to
rest
?
Alas
!
it
no
longer
is
mine
,
No
more
on
my
morning
it
beams
;
Despair
now
possesses
its
place
,
And
presides
even
over
my
dreams
.
Why
did
my
fond
credulous
heart
Give
delusion
such
easy
belief
;
Why
listen
with
rapture
to
vows
Now
forgot
,
and
devote
me
to
grief
?
Alas
!
whensoe'er
I
attempt
A
respite
from
anguish
to
find
,
From
the
world
and
its
scorn
I
retire
,
Still
,
still
it
adheres
to
my
mind
;
The
admonishing
spirit
within
Thy
conscience
must
whisper
,
beware
!
Haste
—
restore
a
fond
wife
to
delight
,
A
mother
preserve
from
despair
.
The
soft
southern
gale
as
it
blows
,
Appears
with
my
sorrows
to
mourn
;
Gentle
echo
with
pity
replies
,
"
Mary's
peace
ne'er
again
can
return
.
"
Tho'
religion's
meek
aid
I
implore
,
Yet
the
softest
ideas
afire
;
And
this
heart
,
tho'
disdain'd
,
still
adores
What
my
reason
no
longer
can
prize
.
But
alas
!
could
the
error
be
mine
?
Say
,
could
it
e'er
spring
from
my
mind
,
When
so
fondly
thou
often
hast
said
,
Mary's
bosom
is
chaste
and
refin'd
?
Still
triumph
—
my
wrongs
are
unknown
;
Oh
!
torture
be
hush'd
,
be
represt
;
To
be
pitied
I
yet
am
too
proud
,
And
thy
fame
is
still
dear
to
my
breast
;
Ever
dear
!
yet
be
warn'd
by
my
love
;
Retribution's
bright
morning
will
rise
,
And
those
wrongs
,
unremember'd
by
thee
,
Some
angel
will
waft
to
the
skies
.
Farewel
to
each
blessing
below
,
My
moments
to
care
I
resign
;
Though
I
die
,
may
thy
pleasure
increase
!
Thy
Mary
will
never
repine
:
To
the
grave
thy
fond
wife
will
retire
,
It
will
shelter
—
will
yield
her
repose
;
Its
coldness
will
chill
her
warm
heart
,
Free
thee
—
and
her
sorrows
compose
.