When we see the first glory of youth pass us by,
Like a leaf on the stream that will never return;
When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high,
First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn;
Then, then is the moment affection can sway
With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew ;
Love nursed among pleasures is faithless as they,
But the Love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true.
In climes full of sunshine, though splendid their dyes,
Yet faint is the odour the flowers shed about;
'Tis the clouds and the mists of our own weeping skies
That call the full spirit of fragrancy out.
So the wild glow of passion may kindle from mirth,
But 'tis only in grief true affection appears ;-
And, even though to smiles it may first owe its birth,
All the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears.
OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE.
OUR first young love resembles
That short but brilliant ray,
Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles
Through April's earliest day.
No, no-all life before us,
Howe'er its lights may play,
Can shed no lustre o'er us
Like that first April ray.