Awaited a more genial spring,
Went forth again to search around,
And some few leaves of olive found,
But not a bower which could impart
Its interchange of light and shade;
Not that soft down, to warm the heart,
Of which her former nest was made.
Smooth were the waves, the ether clear,
Yet all was desert, cold, and drear!

"Affection, o'er thy clouded sky
In flocks the birds of omen fly;
And oft the wandering harpy, Care,
Must thy delicious viands share:
But all the soul's interior light,
All that is soothing, sweet, and bright,
All fragrance, softness, colour, glow,
To thee, as to the sun, we owe!

"Years past away! swift, varied years!
I learnt the luxury of tears;
And all the orphan's wretched lot,
'Midst those she pleas'd and serv'd, forgot.

"By turns applauded and despis'd,
Till one appear'd who duly priz'd;
Bound round my heart a welcome chain,
And earthward lur'd its hopes again;
When, careless of all worldly weal,
By Fancy only taught to feel,