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I think of thee, whene'er the sun his beams

O'er ocean flings;

I think of thee, whene'er the moonlight gleams

In silv'ry springs.

I see thee, when upon the distant ridge

The dust awakes;

At midnight's hour, when on the fragile bridge

The wanderer quakes.

I hear thee, when yon billows rise on high,

With murmur deep.

To tread the silent grove oft wander I,

When all's asleep.

I'm near thee, though thou far away mayst be—

Thou, too, art near!

The sun then sets, the stars soon lighten me,

Would thou wert here!