It swells with wishes proud but vain—
And on its altar kindle fires,
Whose wasted warmth but nurtures pain.
And feelings come, with potent spell,
In many a wildering throng combined,
Whose force no words can ever tell,
Nor language e’er a likeness find.
But, ah! how sinks my saddened soul,
To know, with all its longings high,
It ne’er can reach the tempting goal,