And she can pour forth in such converse high
All her soul’s tide of love, the deep, the strong.
Oh! lonelier far, perchance, thy destiny,
And more forlorn, amidst the world’s gay throng,
Than hers—the queen of that majestic gloom,
The tempest, and the desert, and the tomb!
[397] “A son of light, a lovely form, He comes, and makes her glad.”—Campbell.
THE PRAYER FOR LIFE.
O sunshine and fair earth!
Sweet is your kindly mirth;