Page:Memorials of a tour on the continent, 1820 (IA memorialsoftouro00word).pdf/80

64

Not vain is sadly-uttered praise;
The words of truth's memorial vow
Are sweet as morning fragrance shed
From flowers 'mid Goldau's ruins bred;
Sweet as Eve's fondly-lingering rays,
On Righi's silent brow.

And, when thy Mother weeps for Thee,
Lost Youth! a solitary Mother;
This tribute from a casual Friend
A not unwelcome aid may lend,
To feed the tender luxury,
The rising pang to smother.