Unsatisfied desires have sway’d my breast;
Hope’s Syren voice has lured me to despair;
Only Excitement’s charm’d me, with its zest,
And strangled thought, e’er it could change to care;
But, now, such deep repose hath breathed content,
Filling the measure of all hopes with thee;
That, all my longings and my fears are spent,
Or only live, that thou may’st bid them flee:
If, now, Ambition points to ceaseless toil;
Gleam through the years, altars of sacrifice;
When all is done, I but remain the foil,
Marking what measure thou may’st well despise.
All that I have, or gain, or love, is thine,
And all is little, since thy heart is mine.