Yes, thou shalt smile again!—Time always heals
In youth, the wounds of Sorrow.—O! survey
Yon now subsided Deep, thro' Night a prey
To warring Winds, and to their furious peals
Surging tumultuous!—yet, as in dismay,
The settling Billows tremble.—Morning steals
Grey on the rocks;—and soon, to pour the day
From the streak'd east, the radiant Orb unveils
In all his pride of light.—Thus shall the glow
Of beauty, health, and hope, by soft degrees
Spread o'er thy breast; disperse these storms of woe;
Wake, with sweet pleasure's sense, the wish to please,
Till from those eyes the wonted lustres flow,
Bright as the Sun on calm'd and crystal Seas.