3.

Doth o'er us pass, when, as th' expanding eye

To the loved object—so the tear to the lid

Will start, which lately slept in apathy?

And yet it need not be—(that object) hid

From us in life—but common—which doth lie

Each hour before us—but then only, bid

With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken.

To awake us—'Tis a symbol and a token