Stanzas, On Receiving A Present From One Long And Truly Esteemed Poem by Robert Anderson

Yes, on it I will gaze, and sigh,
And next my heart the prize will wear,
Ev'n death's keen terrors I'd defy,
Ere man from me the gift shou'd tear!

An exile tho' I'm doom'd to stray;
Where'er my vagrant feet may rove,
I'll kiss it, with a tear, and say,
O had it been the gift of love!

But love, alas! has brought me low,
And none from ruin can me save;
'Tis mine to bear a load of woe,
Till sorrow sinks me in the grave.

Ah! precious gift! on which I gaze,
May thy late owner ne'er endure
The pang that on this bosom preys,
The pain she proudly scorn'd to cure!

If e'er she deign to think of me,
May no rude cares disturb her breast!
--For her, my daily pray'r shall be,
The fair destroyer of my rest!