BLest as th’ immortal Gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while,
Softly speak and sweetly smile.
‘Twas this bereav’d my soul of rest,
And rais’d such tumults in my breast;
For while I gaz’d in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
My bosom glow’d; the subtile flame
Ran quick thro’ all my vital frame;
O’er my dim eyes a darkness hung,
My ears with hollow murmures rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill’d,
My blood with gentle horrors thrill’d,
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk, and dy’d away.