And make an eye the lode-star of thy soul,
And let a glance the springs of thought control;
Gaze on a mortal form with fond delight,
Till the fair vision mingles with thy sight;
There seek thy blessings, there repose thy trust,
Lean on the willow, idolise the dust!
Then, when thy treasure best repays thy care,
Think on that dread “for ever”—and despair!
And oh! no strange, unwonted storm there needs
To wreck at once thy fragile ark of reeds.