MEMORY AND CONSCIENCE.
When shall scenes of other days
Bright with Hope's unclouded rays,
Rising, meet us, and restore
Pleasures now possess'd no more?—
When, those joys with backward flight,
Thronging, press upon our sight?—
When, from cold oblivion's bourne
Our long-buried hours return?—
When the lamp of life is broke,
When its ray is quench'd in smoke,
When the dreams of hope are fled,
When the beating pulse is dead,
When the shrivell'd skies shall burn,
Shall those buried hours return,—
Wake from their oblivious bed,
Meet us at the bar of dread—
Come they then in smiles or tears,
Dark with frowns, or pale with fears?—
Search in Memory's treasure-cell,
Question her, for she can tell.—
Is her boasted colouring pale?—
Sighs she o'er a broken tale?—
Does her footstep shrink to climb
All the slippery steeps of time?—
Ask of Conscience!—She can bring
Waters from the deepest spring,
Touch the nerve of keenest thrill,
Stir the dregs of latent ill;—
And her tablets never fade
Though their trace seem lightly made,—
For each tint of bliss or wo
Through Eternity shall glow.