LXVIII. Jessy Lewars

[Written on the blank side of a list of wild beasts, exhibiting in Dumfries. “Now,” said the poet, who was then very ill, “it is fit to be presented to a lady.”]

Talk not to me of savages
From Afric’s burning sun,
No savage e’er could rend my heart
As, Jessy, thou hast done.
But Jessy’s lovely hand in mine,
A mutual faith to plight,
Not even to view the heavenly choir
Would be so blest a sight.