Fair sorceress, upon thy calm domain
We gaze in ceaseless wonder, compassed round
By slow-expanding visions interwound
With phantasies of pleasure, hope, and pain.
In thee life's wearied echoes find again
A silent fold: in thee each herald sound,
As in an Ocean's slumberous depth profound,
Awaits the future and her shadowy train.
All hearts the mild enchantment of thy sway
Subdues to subtlest sympathies benign-
To thee the golden Present, day by day,
For some far-glittering idol we resign,
And, like to exiles, homeward journeying, say:
'Our sighs, our dreams, our longings, all are thine.'