FRAGMENT VII.
[There was a day when simply but to be]
“Sans esperance—et même sans desirs
Je regrettais les sensible plaisirs
Dont la douceur enchanta ma jeunesse
Sont il perdu? desais-je sans retour.”
Marquis de la Fare.
There was a day when simply but to be,
To live, to breathe, was purest ecstasy;
Then Life was new, and with a smiling air
Robb'd of his thorny wreath intrusive Care;
And o'er the drear path I was doom'd to tread
Beneath the little wand'rer's footsteps shed
Full many a beam of gay prismatic hue,
And many a bud from Fancy's bosom threw;
While the young Hours, in wild and frolic play,
Time's tell-tale record, I idly flung away;
And Love (but then a child) from hour to hour
Would fondly rove, and from each fragrant flow'r
Suck'd honey'd essence,
to imbue his dart,
And though he thrill'd, ne'er pain'd the flutt'ring heart;
Pleasing and pleas'd; still blessing, still most blest;
In life alone each transport was possest:
But now, in life alone no charms I view—
And oh! Time, Hours, and Love, how chang'd are you!
