Lo! thus, that life, which seem’d to me a void,
E’er thou my sun did’st gild it with thy light,
Now looks as merry, as the bubble buoy’d
On summer’s billow, whose quick glory’s bright:
My scouted woe now glares as sourly-strange,
As once joy show’d to my grief-fashioned breast;
Each act, each thought, as through the world I range,
Finds new commencement, in young vigour drest:
Rich centre, around which my life revolves,
How strong the attraction of thy far intent;
How living, and how joyous, the resolves
Whose object, thou, thy will, their utmost bent:
Though thou art far, fancy relieves her fear,
Imagining thoughts whose love may bring thee near.