Dropped its silver balls from sight The starry clepsydra of night; And the morn brought jocund glee To the world, and not to me, “Would I ne’er had seen thy face, Happiness, lost Happiness!” Stung with swarms of wretchedness, I plunged into the wilderness; Toward the Eastern land of spells Me some secret power impels; “There some wily witch,” I thought, “In her toils the boy has caught.” Through the shadows, through the sun, And surging sands I journeyed on, Till the sun his gold lance set In rest to prick from Olivet. Glorious light the morrow showed. Nor to him its lustre owed. Up the steep of Zion’s hill Rose a being brighter still. Silvery white the garb she wore, And a cross of flowers she bore; From vulgar gaze her charms, amid A dark, enshrining mask, she hid, Lighted up like midnight skies With the splendor of her eyes; Her dainty feet, with sandals shod, Scarce touched the ragged road she trod, And a pearly scallop-shell Gleamed her pilgrim state to tell. Dully, long I strove to see What that which bore her train could be; Now on this side, now on that, Now it met a chiding pat, For resting on her skirts to impede, Impishly, her upward speed, From frowning cliff and wayside stone, Flitting far, as bribes, it won Blossoms fair and held before, As her constancy to lure. Graciously she marked its play; Steadfastly she held her way. Changed of mood, with tender gloom It hung its garlands o’er a tomb. Full in view thence reared its head, Looked at me and beckoned, Then, as if perforce, again Fled and bore the lady’s train; Thick my heart’s full throbs confess “Surely that was Happiness!” Panting, staring, faint, I stood, Then with foot and tongue pursued; “Sorceress, fiend—whate’er ye be— Tear not thus my fere from me! I defy the loathly charms That keep him from his poor maid’s arms! I will rend thy mask away! I will give those charms to-day!” My whirlwind race was won, and lo! I tore it from her blushing brow, My foster-sister’s, Holiness! And her page was Happiness!