In the drear void of a sad tortured breast;Now on the well-known threshold Hope hath smil'd,Herself appeareth in the sunlight mild.
Am I doom'd myself to seeThus degraded evermore?
THE sun appears! A glorious sight!
But which with clearness never can proclaimThe things whose own peculiar stamp they bear.
Whence the drops so fragrant fell;By the locks, whose gentle care
'Tis sad, 'tis sad to have to speed
Came at last to light.
In the glad dance upstood;And perfect bliss I know
At length they all are there,And in the middle he is placed