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With billowy-waving arms!The force returns, whose might

All proposed attending.Johnny, go and look around!

Ah, who'll heal his afflictions,To whom balsam was poison,Who, from love's fullness,Drank in misanthropy only?First despised, and now a despiser,He, in secret, wastethAll that he is worth,In a selfishness vain.If there be, on thy psaltery,Father of Love, but one toneThat to his ear may be pleasing,Oh, then, quicken his heart!Clear his cloud-enveloped eyesOver the thousand fountainsClose by the thirsty oneIn the desert.