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The trees-the stream-the thrush's song
Recall the visions which had fled;
The landscape glows with beauty still;
They, in our eyes most fair remain,
With them the woful change is not-
Within the church-yard silent lie;
Or such as, still endued with life,
Distance-pursuits-and stir, and strife,
The pleasures we in childhood felt
Are duller grown-less bold-less brightAnd all their fairer portions melt,
Like clouds before the mental sight.
Is tainted now that then was pure;
Who hath not felt a nameless thrill,
Scenes that we never can forget?
That all those golden days are o'er; And sorrow in the bosom stirs,
To think they shall return no more.
Behind us lies a lovely field,
Before us lies a dreary waste;
The sweets we could no longer taste!
And, pondering, heave the pensive sigh!
SUCH THINGS WERE.
Scenes of my youth! ye once were dear,
From early dawn to closing day.
That scatter pleasure as they flow.
'Twas here a tender father strove
By mild affection's primal tie;
'Twas here, where calm and tranquil rest O'erpays the peasant for his toil, That first in blessing I was blest
With glowing friendship's open smile. My friend, far distant doomed to roam, Now braves the fury of the seas; He fled his peaceful happy home,
His little fortune to increase; While bleeds afresh the wound of care, When I remember-such things were!
"Twas here, even in this gloomy grove,
I fondly gazed on Laura's charms, Who, blushing, owned a mutual love, And sighed responsive in my arms.
Though hard the soul-conflicting strife,
The lovely maid whom I adore : 'Twould ease my soul of all my care, Could I forget that such things were !
There first I saw the morn appear
Here marked the soft-declining ray.
And all their mingled glories gone!
Love is a holy power,