MELANCHOLY.
I
The sun of the morning,
Unclouded and bright,
The landscape adorning
With lustre and light,
In glory and gladness
New bliss may impart;
But, O! give to sadness
And softness of heart—
A moment to ponder—a season to grieve—
The light of the moon, or the shadows of eve!
II
Then soothing reflections
Awake to the mind,
And sweet recollections
Of friends who were kind;
Of love that was tender,
And yet could decay;
Of visions whose splendour
Time wither'd away,
In all that for brightness and beauty might seem
The painting of fancy, the work of a dream!
III
The soft cloud of lightness,
The stars beaming through;
The pure moon of brightness,
The deep sky of blue;
The rush of the river
Through vales that are still;
The breezes that ever
Sigh lone o'er the hill,—
Are sounds that can soften, and sights that impart
A bliss to the eye, and a balm to the heart.
