I love thee well my little wheel,And why I love thee I can tell:When tir'd of folly, shew and noise,Of feeling griefs, and feigning joys,Of visiting, and company,And all that's called society,I sought in solitude and peace,To sooth a mind too ill at ease,Thou kindly then thy aid didst lend,I found in thee almost a friend.
Thou better may'st the title claim,Than many who usurp the name,Since thou instruction can'st impart,"And point a moral to the heart."For who in turning thee can failTo think on fickle Fortune's wheel,Or spin Thy thread, nor think uponThat on which hangs the life of man,Now firm as tho' it ne'er would sever,Now in an instant snapt for ever.
My little wheel, I love thy sound,Thy humming as I turn thee roundTo me is almost melody,Inviting still to reverie;And sometimes, when thought steals on me,And heedless of myself or thee,My mind at large to scenes will fly,That prompt the smile, or swell the sigh,Well pleas'd I find tho' thought may roam,My busy fingers were at home.
I said I lov'd thee little wheel,And I shall love thee more I feel,If lengthen'd life shall be my fate,Each day we'll be more intimate,And when old age each pulse shall still,Reflective then I'll turn my wheel,My wayward heart the throb shall ceaseThat panted after more than peace,And the last hours I spend with theeBe sacred to -- Tranquillity.
