Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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THEY ARE NO MORE. |
 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
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THEY ARE NO MORE.
ILS NE SONT PLUS!
OLD FRENCH SONG.
OLD FRENCH SONG.
They are no more, they are no more,
The ardent hopes and visions high,
That filled my glowing heart of yore,
And gave my fancy wings to fly;
The love I thought would never die;
The faith that every doubt forbore;
The stalwart arm and eagle eye;—
They are no more, they are no more!
The ardent hopes and visions high,
That filled my glowing heart of yore,
And gave my fancy wings to fly;
The love I thought would never die;
The faith that every doubt forbore;
The stalwart arm and eagle eye;—
They are no more, they are no more!
The trusted friends, companions gay,
Who trod with me youth's pleasant road,
Who cheered me on my 'venturous way,
And lightened half the pilgrim's load;
Where are they now? Estranged or dead,
Or wanderers on some distant shore;
By fate impelled, or fancy led,
To me, alas, they are no more!
Who trod with me youth's pleasant road,
Who cheered me on my 'venturous way,
And lightened half the pilgrim's load;
Where are they now? Estranged or dead,
Or wanderers on some distant shore;
By fate impelled, or fancy led,
To me, alas, they are no more!
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And where are now, oh, where are now,
The buoyant step, and lighter heart;
The cordial smile, untroubled brow,
That once were of my life a part?
Warped, withered, chilled by bitter wrong,
My heart's best impulses are o'er;
Even fancy's spells, the power of Song,
They are no more, they are no more!
The buoyant step, and lighter heart;
The cordial smile, untroubled brow,
That once were of my life a part?
Warped, withered, chilled by bitter wrong,
My heart's best impulses are o'er;
Even fancy's spells, the power of Song,
They are no more, they are no more!
With nothing left to live for here,
I fain would pass in peace away;
My heart and hopes alike grown sere,
Why should I longer here delay;
So that some being of kindred clay,—
Life's wild and fitful fever o'er,—
May of my faults but, sorrowing, say
They are no more, they are no more!
I fain would pass in peace away;
My heart and hopes alike grown sere,
Why should I longer here delay;
So that some being of kindred clay,—
Life's wild and fitful fever o'er,—
May of my faults but, sorrowing, say
They are no more, they are no more!
| Lyrics of the heart | |