Sympathy

Sympathy

There is a charm, whose powerful spell
The vestal's feeling e'en can tell,
While thro' her veins a thrill there flies.
Whose sweet impression never dies:

And, strange to tell, she knows not why

A tear should start in either eye.

This soft'ning power, this germ of love,
Foes friendship's kindly rapture prove;
To line or rule it never bends,
Its sweet influence makes us friends;

And wond'rous still, no strength of mind

Could e'er its dire dominion bind.

There's not a soul, no breathing clay,
But by its all-enchanting away
Still views a form, still melts an eye,
Of beauteous mould, of brightest dye.

Mysterious essence! by its rule

Mind seeks for mind, the fool for fool!

Go far, or near, no matter where;
Dive deep below, or rise in air;
It is the chain, the secret tine,
Connecting all beneath the sky,

O, magic pow'r! thy empire shares

Our hopes, our fears, our joys, and cares.

It is a mirror, polish'd fair,
Reflecting mirth or musing care,
Producing corresponding grace
Of mein, of mind, of heart, and face:

Electric beams its magic ray,

While nature blooms, will ne'er decay.

Hail, Sympathy, whose high controul
Binds heart to heart, and soul to soul!
The chain of Nature's link'd by thee,
Is all its beauteous symmetry:

Thou nerv'st the heart with all that's dear;

To thee we owe compassion's tear.

Unattributed

1:11, p. 44

1827.05.25