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121
Stanzas.
[When shall I be at rest, say throbbing heart?]
I
When shall I be at rest, say throbbing heart?If thou can'st date the period of thy woe,
When shall I cease to play this tragic part,
Tell me thou beating mourner, dost thou know?
II
When shall thy long lost and thy much-lov'd Peace,Around her votarist strew her olive flowers;
When shall thy little fears and troubles cease,
Or when shall Hope illume my cheerless hours?
III
When round my brow shall Joy his garland weave,When shall Contentmemt steal into my breast!
Remembrance of its treasur'd woes bereave,
And give thee, flutterer, thy long-lost rest?
122
IV
Methinks the little oracle replies:—“Ah! should my response soon prophetic prove?
“I'd date the period of these tears, these sighs,
“When Fate should give thee back to those you love.”
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