 | Songs of a Stranger |  |
39
THE PAST.
Oh! how sad the recollection! in the midst of joy it springs;
What a train of faded pleasures that fond idea brings!
All those hours are gone for ever—they were sweet, but pass'd away
Like the sunny clouds that vanish in the mists of dying day.
What a train of faded pleasures that fond idea brings!
All those hours are gone for ever—they were sweet, but pass'd away
Like the sunny clouds that vanish in the mists of dying day.
I have number'd all the sorrows this tortured heart has known;
I have counted each delight I would ever call my own;
But the moments are so woven, that the guiding clew is gone,
And the sorrow and the pleasure have blended into one.
I have counted each delight I would ever call my own;
But the moments are so woven, that the guiding clew is gone,
And the sorrow and the pleasure have blended into one.
That one—oh! when we parted, it was glittering in that tear;
That one—'twas in the accents that told we both were dear:
It dwelt in those fond glances, too fleet, too early past;
It lived in that embrace—the tenderest—the last!
That one—'twas in the accents that told we both were dear:
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It lived in that embrace—the tenderest—the last!
The last! oh, in that word there are ages of despair!
No summer thought of brightness can dwell untroubled there;
Yet my soul was in that moment so fraught with joy and pain,
And 'tis only recollection can give back that soul again!
No summer thought of brightness can dwell untroubled there;
Yet my soul was in that moment so fraught with joy and pain,
And 'tis only recollection can give back that soul again!
| Songs of a Stranger | |