It lifts the poor man from his cell
To fortune's bright alcove;
Its mighty sway few, few can tell,
Mid envious foes it conquers ill;
There's nothing half like love.
Ye weary strangers, void of rest,
Who late through life have strove,
Like the late bird which seeks its nest,
If you would hence in truth be blest,
Light on the bough of love.
The vagrant plebeian, void of friends,
Constrain'd through wilds to rove,
On this his safety whole depends,
One faithful smile his trouble ends,
A smile of constant love.
Thus did a captured wretch complain,
Imploring heaven above,
Till one with sympathetic pain,
Flew to his arms and broke the chain,
And grief took flight from love.
Let clouds of danger rise and roar,
And hope's firm pillars move;
With storms behind and death before,
O grant me this, I crave no more,
There's nothing half like love.
When nature wakes soft pity's coo
The hawk deserts the dove,
Compassion melts the creature through,
With palpitations felt by few,
The wrecking throbs of love.
Let surly discord take its flight
From wedlock's peaceful grove,
While union breaks the arm of fight,
With darkness swallow'd up in light,
O what is there like love.
