She feels it--'tis her son! with rapture wild,
Bath'd in warm tears, from soft sensations prest.
She clasps him to her cheek, her lip, her breast,
And looks with eye unsated on her child.
He knows her, sure!--Sure, answering rapture his,
Leave her at least the visionary bliss!
Lo! his clear eye to her's responsive speaks,
And lo! his little mouth, that wistful seeks
Warm from her lip to suck the sweet o'erflowing kiss.
She hears the silent call--how quickly hears
A mother's heart.