When in the presence of the dearest one. There rests the heart, and there that sweetest thought, The thought of being hers, is check'd by nought. In the pure bosom doth a yearning float, Unto a holier, purer, unknown Being Its grateful aspiration to devote, The Ever-Nameless then unriddled seeing; We call it: piety!--such blest delight I feel a share in, when before her sight. Before her sight, as 'neath the sun's hot ray, Before her breath, as 'neath the spring's soft wind, In its deep wintry cavern melts away Self-love, so long in icy chains confin'd; No selfishness and no self-will are nigh, For at her advent they were forced to fly. It seems as though she said: "As hours pass by They spread before us life with kindly plan; Small knowledge did the yesterday supply, To know the morrow is conceal'd from man; And if the thought of evening made me start, The sun at setting gladden'd straight my heart. "Act, then, as I, and look, with joyous mind, The moment in the face; nor linger thou! Meet it with speed, so fraught with life, so kind In action, and in love so radiant now; Let all things be where thou art, childlike ever, Thus thoult be all, thus, thou'lt be vanquish'd never." Thou speakest well, methought, for as thy guide The moment's favour did a god assign, And each one feels himself when by thy side, Fate's fav'rite in a moment so divine; I tremble at thy look that bids me go, Why should I care such wisdom vast to know? Now am I far! And what would best befit The present minute? I could scarcely tell; Full many a rich possession offers it, These but offend, and I would fain repel. Yearnings unquenchable still drive me on, All counsel, save unbounded tears, is gone. Flow on, flow on in never-ceasing course, Yet may ye never quench my inward fire! Within my bosom heaves a mighty force, Where death and life contend in combat dire. Medicines may serve the body's pangs to still; Nought but the spirit fails in strength of will,-- Fails in conception; wherefore fails it so? A thousand times her image it portrays; Enchanting now, and now compell'd to go, Now indistinct, now clothed in purest rays! How could the smallest comfort here be flowing? The ebb and flood, the coming and the going! * * * * * * Leave me here now, my life's companions true! Leave me alone on rock, in moor and heath; But courage! open lies the world to you, The glorious heavens above, the earth beneath; Observe, investigate, with searching eyes, And nature will disclose her mysteries. To me is all, I to myself am lost, Who the immortals' fav'rite erst was thought; They, tempting, sent Pandoras to my cost, So rich in wealth, with danger far more fraught; They urged me to those lips, with rapture crown'd, Deserted me, and hurl'd me to the ground. 1823. III. ATONEMENT. [Composed, when 74 years old, for a Polish lady, who excelled in playing on the pianoforte.]