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Went out to him as if by witchery.
Though he be far, I fancy, that his eye
Upon me casts its glances from on high;
His voice rings in my ear both day and night,
His figure ever stands before my sight,
Of him I think, when I my vigils keep.
Of him I dream, when I am wrapt in sleep.


And knows he, pray, thy ardent love for him?


Why should he not? when this life's highest weal,
This heaven on earth, when all I am and feel
Are due to him, when through his magic word
My latent powers are from their slumber stirred;
When through the inspiration from his soul
My spirit wings its flight to higher goal.
When the possession of my treasured prize
Makes hundredfold my self-esteem arise—
O, father, father! come what may, this love
Will be my happiness here and above.


My child! the dreams of youthful age are nought
But the reflection of its rosy cheeks;
These gone, the dreams are gone, which proves too well
Their fleeting worth, their idle vanity.
A better bottom than their quicksand is