 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
143
THOU'ST WAKED ME FROM THE HAPPIEST DREAM.
Thou'st waked me from the happiest dream,
And, with a single word, hast chill'd,
Of sweetest thoughts, the fairest stream
That e'er through boyish fancy thrill'd;
I dream—alas! I sleep—no more,
But with a phrenzied memory,
Still destined idly to deplore,
I turn in hopeless pain to thee!
And, with a single word, hast chill'd,
Of sweetest thoughts, the fairest stream
That e'er through boyish fancy thrill'd;
I dream—alas! I sleep—no more,
But with a phrenzied memory,
Still destined idly to deplore,
I turn in hopeless pain to thee!
I turn to thee, but turn in vain;
Thou hear'st me not—thou wilt not hear,
Nor heed, that daring hope again,
As fatal quite, to me, as dear!
Ah! could'st thou but one hour restore,
That hour would make me more than free;
And yet, though destined to deplore
And curse the past, I curse not thee!
Thou hear'st me not—thou wilt not hear,
Nor heed, that daring hope again,
As fatal quite, to me, as dear!
Ah! could'st thou but one hour restore,
That hour would make me more than free;
And yet, though destined to deplore
And curse the past, I curse not thee!
Yet, was it well to use the game,
Thy web of witcheries—tear and smile—
To fan boy-fancies into flame,
Thou mocking faith and love the while?
Where was the merit in thy art,
On one so simple—all untaught
In that base school that sells the heart,
And lives a lie to love and thought?
Thy web of witcheries—tear and smile—
To fan boy-fancies into flame,
Thou mocking faith and love the while?
Where was the merit in thy art,
On one so simple—all untaught
In that base school that sells the heart,
And lives a lie to love and thought?
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |