When young, sweet love, with her luring smile,
The mystic charm-light of halcyon hours,
Shall no more with her witch'ry our souls beguile,
As the leaves grow seer on Life's fading bowers,
And the blushes are pale on its withering flowers.

When the strains we loved in the days of yore
No more with their sweetness our heart's-chords thrill,
When Hope's roseate meteors glow no more,
Like the summer sunrise o'er vale and hill,
That our dreamings with radiance were wont to fill.

When these are gone, shall the lone heart know
No solace the solitude's gloom to cheer?
Shall no stray beams lighten the spirit's woe
As it moans "alone!" e'en when crowds are near?
Must _all_ be lost that was once so dear?

Ah, no! Though Time is a thief, I ween,
Stealing youth's best wealth as the swift years go,
Still the memories of pleasures which once have been--
The dreams of the beautiful "Long ago,"
Are our own to keep, and shall aye be so!




"THE KING IS DEAD."