The hope deceived, the soul dissatisfied,
Home without love, and privacy from which
Delight was banish’d first, and peace too soon
Departed. Was it strange that when he met
A heart attuned, ... a spirit like his own,
Of lofty pitch, yet in affection mild,
And tender as a youthful mother’s joy, ...
Oh was it strange if at such sympathy
The feelings which within his breast repell’d
And chill’d had shrunk, should open forth like flowers