Oft when o’er my young being, shades of grief
Have darkly gathered, and been spent in tears,
Thy “spirit-stirring muse” hath brought relief,
And called back images of other years!
As from the world my soul removed her care,
And sought the healing balm of Poesy to share.
Perchance ’twas but some scraps that met my eye,
Yet like a charm, it soothed an aching heart—
Bidding it turn from hopes beneath the sky,
To choose above the wise, unfailing part;