149
PAST AND PRESENT.
Can this be the creature of laughter and light,
Who, twenty short summers ago,
O'er the clouds of my spirit threw colours as bright
As heaven's own beautiful bow?
Can this be the maid of the merry blue eye,
That chained the young heart in my breast,
'Till it throbbed with delight if her form flitted by,
Or came in bright dreams to my rest?—
That chained the young heart in my breast,
'Till it throbbed with delight if her form flitted by,
Or came in bright dreams to my rest?—
