Yet chase away each vain regret, Trust me, the meeting hour shall yet Is not his spirit with us now? Yes! wheresoe'er his footsteps roam, The wanderer's yearning heart can know No resting-place-but home! Then smile again, and let the song Pour forth its music sweet and clearWhat magic to those notes belong Which thus chain every ear! Soft eyes are filled with tears-what spell So suddenly hath called them there? That strain-ah, yes! we know it well; It is his favourite air. With every note how forcibly Return the thoughts of other days! With all around his looks are blent; One wish, with cordial feeling fraught Breathe we for him ere yet we part, That for each high and generous thought That animates his heart, |