O transient voyager of heaven
O silent sign of winter skies
What adverse wind thy sail has driven
To dungeons where a prisoner lies?

Methinks the hand that shut the sun
So sternly from this mourning brow
Might still their rebel task have done?
And checked a thing so frail as thou

They would have done it had they known
The talisman that dwelt in thee
For all the suns that ever shone
Have never been so kind to me

For many a week, and many a day
My heart was weighed with sinking gloom
When morning rose in mourning grey
And faintly lit my prison room

But angel like, when I awoke
Thy silvery form so soft and fair
Shining through darkness, sweetly spoke
Of cloudy skies and mountains bare

...

Thy presence and voiceless soulless messenger
Waked a thrilling tone
That comforts me while thou art here
And will sustain when thou art gone