Where'er a brilliant joy has gleamed, a cherished hope lies hid
There go and come this wakeful band, untutored and unhid.
And often in joy's winter time, when cheerless bodings press,
When th' exile deems himself alone, or feels his hopes grow less.
This wizard band will flock around, and with one magic stroke
Call visions up, the brightest far on which thought e'er awoke.
All pleasures in the future dream'd by prophets or by seers.
They'll realise in charms which lie in dreams of bygone years,
With more than song's excelling art, a blissful calm they'll find,
And driving hence each growing fear, they'll leave repose behind.