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And painted each pastime with tints of pure pleasure;
Bright days, when the heart leapt like kid o'er the mountain,
And gazed on the fair fields—one full fount of feeling—
When wood and when water, flower, blossom, and small leaf,
Were robed in a sunshine that seemed everlasting;
Ye were but a dream, and like dream have departed!
O! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever.
As the pale cloud that circled in morning the hill top,
Flitteth, in fleecy wreathes, fast in the sun-blaze;
Or, as the slim shadows steal silently over
The gray walls at noon-tide, so ghost-like on-gliding,
And leave not a line for remembrance to linger on;
So soon and so sadly have terribly perished
The joys we did muse of in youth's mildest morn;
Time spreads o'er the brow soon his pale sheaf of sorrow,
And freezes each heart-fount that whilome gushed freely;
Oh! Dream of Life's early day, farewell for ever.
