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Of the silent heart which NatureFurnishes to every Creature,Whatsoe'er we feel and knowToo sedate for outward show,Such a light of gladness breaks,Pretty Kitten from thy freaks,Spreads with such a living graceO'er my little Laura's face;Yes, the sight so stirs and charmsThee, Baby, laughing in my arms,That almost I could repineThat your transports are not mine,That I do not wholly fareEven as ye do, thoughtless Pair!And I will have my careless seasonSpite of melancholy reason,Will walk through life in such a wayThat, when time brings on decay,
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