THE SEASON COMES WHEN FIRST WE MET.


The season comes when first we met,
But you return no more;
Why cannot I the days forget,
Which time can ne'er restore?
O! days too sweet, too bright to last,
Are you, indeed, for ever past?

The fleeting shadows of delight,
In memory I trace;
In fancy stop their rapid flight,
And all the past replace;
But, ah! I wake to endless woes,
And tears the fading visions close!




OH, TUNEFUL VOICE! I STILL DEPLORE.


Oh, tuneful voice! I still deplore
Those accents which, though heard no more,
Still vibrate in my heart;