OH, sadly the storm-cloud traverses the heavens, Like some stricken vessel mid tempests at sea, In dark, misty shadows, and seemingly driven Vast labyrinths over, by some wild decree. Even thus with the star of fond love in the bosom, Revolving in clouds of oppression and fear, Receding in doubt, then approaching the beacon Of hope, once so brilliant, so blessed, and clear. Oh, breathe on my soul through some spirit of Heaven,— Tell, tell if our loves, like this cloud, must be riven.
