And now again I stand this stream beside;
Again I hear the silver ripples flow--
I mark the whispers murmuring o'er the tide,
And the light bubbles trembling as they go.

But oh! the magic-spell that lingered here,
In boyhood's golden age, my heart to bless,
With the bright waves that rippled then so clear,
Is lost in ocean's dull forgetfulness.

Gone are the visions of that glorious time--
Gone are the glancing birds I loved so well,
Nor will they wake again their silver chime,
From the deep tomb of night in which they dwell!

And if perchance some fleeting memories steal,
Like far-off echoes to my dreaming ear,
Away, ungrasped, the cheating visions wheel,
As spectres start upon the wing of fear.

Alas! the glorious sun, which then was high,
Touching each common thing with rosy light,
Is darkly banished from the lowering sky--
And life's dull onward pathway lies, in night.

Yes--I am changed--and this gray gnarled form,
Its leaves all scattered by the rending blast,
Is but an image of my heart;--the storm--
The storm of life, doth make us such at last!