O happy friend, follow thy fantasy,
Dream on the wave, wanton along the shore,
The bird I fondly wait for comes no more.
Arrive at last, O messenger from heaven,
Black envoy, bearing in thy beak of yore
The bread to famishing Elijah given.
Has God for me no portion I implore?
It soon will be too late, the shadows press,
And night-birds gather round my darkening door.
Dead with the prophet in the wilderness,