Faint, indistinct, as are a wind-harp's chords

Hung on a leafless tree,

He will not leave us : we resolve in vain

To chase him forth-for he returns again,

Pining incessantly!

In the old pathways of our lost delights

He walks on sunny days and starlit nights,

Answering our restless moan,

With,-"I am here alone,

My brother Joy is gone-for ever gone!

Round your decaying home

The Spring indeed is come,

The leaves are thrilling with a sense of life,

The sap of flowers is rife,

But where is Joy, Heaven's messenger,-bright

And let us all be glad, as heretofore!"

Then, urged and stung by Memory, we go forth,

And wander south and north,

Deeming Joy may yet answer to our yearn

ing;

But all is blank and bare :

The silent air

Echoes no pleasant shout of his returning.

Yet somewhere-somewhere, by the pathless

woods,

Or silver rippling floods,

He wanders as he wandered once with us;

Through bright arcades of cities populous;

Or else in deserts rude,

Happy in solitude,

And choosing only Youth to be his mate,

He leaves us to our fate.

We hear his distant laughter as we go,

Pacing, ourselves, with Woe,-

Both us he hath outstripped for evermore !

Seek him not in the wood,

Where the sweet ring-doves ever murmuring

brood;

Nor on the hill, nor by the golden shore:

Others inherit that which once was ours;

The freshness of the hours,

The sparkling of the early morning rime,

The evanescent glory of the time!

With them, in some sweet glade,

Warm with a summer shade,

Or where white clover, blooming fresh and wild,

Breathes like the kisses of a little child,

He lingers now :-we call him back in vain

To our world's snow and rain;

The bower we built him when he was our guest

Life's storms have beaten down,

And he far off hath flown,

And buildeth where there is a sunnier nest;