Vain are those tears!—vain and fruitless all—
Showers that refresh not, yet still must fall;
For a purer bliss while the full heart burns,
For a brighter home while the spirit yearns!
Something of mystery there surely dwells,
Waiting thy touch, in our bosom-cells;
Something that finds not its answer here—
A chain to be clasp’d in another sphere.
Therefore a current of sadness deep
Through the stream of thy triumphs is heard to sweep,