He ceas’d—th’ Advent’rer thus reply’d:
“By thee the fancy’d change be try’d,
The now is mine, the now alone,
The future fate’s—a dark unknown!
To nature’s voice my ears incline;
All lovely, loving, all divine!
To joy she courts, she points the way,
And chides this cold, this dull delay.
Farewell—let hope thy bliss supply,
And count thy gains with fancy’s eye;