AN INVOCATION
O Happiness! where have your airy wings flown,
Art thou in the meadows, the groves, or the hills?
Oh, leave not the tired heart in sadness alone!
Come back, and the charms of thy promise fulfill!
Where, where hast thou gone, must we seek thee in vain,
In the city's gay whirl or in nature's wild glen?
And cry in despair: "What is loving but pain!
What is friendship but grief to the children of men!"
Art thou in the meadows, the groves, or the hills?
Oh, leave not the tired heart in sadness alone!
Come back, and the charms of thy promise fulfill!
Where, where hast thou gone, must we seek thee in vain,
In the city's gay whirl or in nature's wild glen?
And cry in despair: "What is loving but pain!
What is friendship but grief to the children of men!"
Oh! is there no prospect but parting and death?
Ah! parting ofttimes wears a bitter sting,
When death has no part in the faltering breath,
When souls have no solace, hearts nowhere to cling.
Farewell, saddest message on tongue or on pen,
But sadder when breathed in the silence alone.
Oh, come, sweet inspirer! where, where hast thou been,
While eyes have grown tearless and hearts turned to stone?
Ah! parting ofttimes wears a bitter sting,
When death has no part in the faltering breath,
When souls have no solace, hearts nowhere to cling.
Farewell, saddest message on tongue or on pen,
But sadder when breathed in the silence alone.
Oh, come, sweet inspirer! where, where hast thou been,
While eyes have grown tearless and hearts turned to stone?
Come! come with the smiles and the gladness of Spring,
Breathe! breathe o'er the spirit the balm of thy breath;
Make the arches above with thy welkin song ring,
And the ashen rose blush on the pale cheek of death.
Peace! peace! bid the troubled waves catch the refrain;
Let peace like the moonbeams dissolve the night's gloom,
But when shall lost Happiness blossom again?
Oh, when shall the rose gain' its wasted perfume?
Breathe! breathe o'er the spirit the balm of thy breath;
Make the arches above with thy welkin song ring,
And the ashen rose blush on the pale cheek of death.
Peace! peace! bid the troubled waves catch the refrain;
Let peace like the moonbeams dissolve the night's gloom,
But when shall lost Happiness blossom again?
Oh, when shall the rose gain' its wasted perfume?
O'er mountain and vale we have sought thee afar,
Stray sprite of the sunshine, frail being of air,
We followed thee, long as a glittering star,
We reached to secure thee and no star was there;
Stray sprite of the sunshine, frail being of air,
We followed thee, long as a glittering star,
We reached to secure thee and no star was there;
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