The trees-the stream-the thrush's song
Recall the visions which had fled;
And recollections, absent long,
Return, and dwell upon the dead!
The landscape glows with beauty still;
But ah! as o'er the scene we range,
The stedfast grove, and changeless rill,
Seem to have undergone a change;
And though, of all the earth I ween,
They, in our eyes most fair remain,
Yet nought, 'mid all so sweet, is seen
So bright and beautiful as them!
With them the woful change is not-
'Tis recollection looks behind
To feelings not to be forgot-
Engraven on the youthful mind.
Who shared those feelings, now, alas!
Within the church-yard silent lie;
And nought remains, save forms that pass
The mirror of the memory,
Or such as, still endued with life,
Tread this wide theatre below,
Distance-pursuits-and stir, and strife,
Between us endless barriers throw.
Now spacious lands, and mountains tall,
Between us lie, and billows curled ;
And though one school contained us all,
Our tombs are scattered o'er the world.
The pleasures we in childhood felt
Are duller grown-less bold-less brightAnd all their fairer portions melt,
Like clouds before the mental sight.
The change is not in them; the mind
Is tainted now that then was pure;
And such sweet bliss is left behind
As penitence can ne'er procure.
Who hath not felt a nameless thrill,
When friends of earlier days are met?
And rising in the mind, at will,
Scenes that we never can forget?
Yet the afflicting thought recurs,
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;
We vainly wish its soil to yield
The sweets we could no longer taste!
Thence, sickening at the thought, we turn,
And to our griefs and follies fly:
In solitude and silence mourn,
And, pondering, heave the pensive sigh!
Scenes of my youth! ye once were dear,
Though sadly I your charms survey ;
I once was wont to linger here,
From early dawn to closing day.
Scenes of my youth! pale sorrow flings
A shade o'er all beauties now,
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And robs the moments of their wings
That scatter pleasure as they flow.
While, still to heighten every care,
Reflection tells me-Such things were!
'Twas here a tender father strove
To keep my happiness in view;
I smiled beneath a mother's love,
That soft compassion ever knew:
In them the virtues all combined,
On them I could with faith rely;
To them my heart and soul were joined
By mild affection's primal tie;
They smile in heaven, exempt from care,
Whilst I remember-such things were!
'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,
Yet fate, the cruel tyrant, bore
Far from my sight the charm of life,
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
Of guiltless pleasure's shining day;
I met the dazzling brightness here,
Here marked the soft-declining ray.
Behold the skies, whose streaming light
Gave splendour to the parting sun,
Now lost in sorrow's sable night,
And all their mingled glories gone!
Till death, in pity, end my care,
I must remember-such things were!
Love is a holy power,
It seems not of this earth,
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