poems.
103
MEMORY.
Faded and worn are the pictures to-night
Memory brings from her storehouse to me;
Weary and sad, tear-stained and bleared,
From her dark castle over the sea.
Memory brings from her storehouse to me;
Weary and sad, tear-stained and bleared,
From her dark castle over the sea.
As I bask in the glow of the moon to-night
Pale phantoms group in the hall,
Some with countenance worn and sad,
And I fancy my name they call.
Pale phantoms group in the hall,
Some with countenance worn and sad,
And I fancy my name they call.
O, give me the scenes of youthful days,
I then was a gladsome child;
And stream, and hill, and wood, and dell
Echoed to my laughter wild.
I then was a gladsome child;
And stream, and hill, and wood, and dell
Echoed to my laughter wild.
But now another scene doth rise,
Dimmed with both pain and sorrow;
When Hope hath meekly folded her hands,
And sighed for a brighter to-morrow.
Dimmed with both pain and sorrow;
When Hope hath meekly folded her hands,
And sighed for a brighter to-morrow.
