Nor less within thy blue eye’s witching beam,
Affection warm, and Sympathy with wo;
Goodness and Grace ineffable illume
Thy mien:—when Music melts thy thrilling tone,
How could my heart its magic pow’r disown?
Thy siren strains oft snatch me from the gloom,
The dream-like forms, the anguish, and turmoil,
That haunt the Past. Alas! too soon again—
As on yon stormy strand the seas recoil,
Some weed sweeps back into its wave-worn den[[15]]—