To Henry, Written to a Russian Air

How I hail this morn's appearing!

   It will thee, my love, restore:

Safety danger past endearing,

   Sure we meet to part no more!

Fame is thine, lo! crowds aver it,

   And her smile is dear to thee;

But I charge thee, don't prefer it

   E'er again to home and me.

Thou, thy country's call obeying,

   Hast her battles nobly fought;

And, thy ready zeal repaying,

   See, she gives the laurels sought.

But have I no claims, my rover?

   Claims as fondly dear to thee?

Yes, O yes! and, wandering over,

   Thou wilt rest with love and me.

Ha! methinks, thy glances reading,

   From thine eyes my fate I know;

Duty still love's claim impeding,

   Thou again must seek the foe.

Of my fears too dread revival!

Yet, with tearful joy I see,

   Duty is the only rival

Potent over love and me.