Come o'er ,
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows;
Seasons may roll,
But the true soul
Burns the same, where'er it goes.
Let fate frown on, so we love and part not;
'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death were thou are not. Here are our thoughts--voyagers' thoughts,
This is a tragedy, the plan of which I have in my own mind arranged and formed