Thy breast alone, when bounding o'er the waves
To Freedom's climes, from slavery and slaves;
Thy breast alone the pleasing thought could frame
Of what I felt, when thy dear letters came:
A thousand times I held them to my breast,
A thousand times my lips the paper prest:
My full heart panted with a joy too strong,
And "Oh, my prince!" died faultering on my tongue:
Fainting I sunk, unequal to the strife,
And milder joys sustain'd returning life.
Hope, sweet enchantress, round my love-sick head
Delightful scenes of blest delusion spread.