This glorious sun to me art thou,
Whose light all gloom dispelleth,
Before whose majesty I bow
When he his power revealeth.
Thy golden locks, thine eyes so blue,
Thy smile so sweetly playing,
Were those first shafts of light that flew,
The gloom of night warraying.
But when, more intimately known,
I found not only beauty,
But genius, taste, and truth, thine own,
Combined with filial duty:
Then rose the sun, o'er all my soul
In full effulgence beaming,
And tides of joy began to roll
Beneath his radiance gleaming.—
Time still his noiseless course pursues
With unremitting vigour,
And lovely Spring each year renews
The waste of Winter's rigour.
Were mine the power, thus, like Time,
To wake again life's flowers,
And days recall of youthful prime
Passed in the Muses' bowers;
Then, lovely maiden! fancy-free,
Rich in each mental treasure,
In me thou wouldst a votary see—
Thy will would be my pleasure.
But while such bliss might not be mine,
A friendship pure and holy
I offered at the hallowed shrine,
To which my heart turned solely.—
When distant from thee many a mile,
High waves between us swelling,
I'll think upon thy lovely smile,
Of pure emotion telling.
The sky will show me thy blue eye;
The whispering breeze of even
Recall that voice, whose melody
Oft lapped my soul in heaven!