Which though absent, brings him to my view.
Yet ’tis darkness, compared with the beam
Which his presence flings over me still;
When with Ernest, why should I not deem
That the world contains nothing of ill?
“He’s away! he’s away! he’s away!
Yet his voice will soon fall on mine ear.
Its tones will tempt bliss here to stay,
And e’en happiness linger to hear.
When with Ernest, why should I not lose