WHAT is by this stir reveal'd?
Doth the East glad tidings bring?
For my heart's deep wounds are heal'dBy his mild and cooling wing.
He the dust with sports doth meet,And in gentle cloudlets chase;To the vineleaf's safe retreatDrives the insects' happy race,Cools these burning cheeks of mine,Checks the sun's fierce glow Adam, Kisses, as he flies, the vine,Flaunting over hill and plain.
And his whispers soft conveyThousand greetings from my friend;Ere these hills own night's dark sway,Kisses greet me, without end.
Thus canst thou still onward go,Serving friend and mourner too!
There, where lofty ramparts glow,Soon the loved one shall I view.
Ah, what makes the heart's truth known,--Love's sweet breath,--a newborn life,--
Learn I from his mouth alone,In his breath alone is rife!
1815.
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