Though mine eye, by sorrow shaded,
Drops the solitary tear,
O'er remember'd joys, now faded,
To young love and rapture dear.
E'en the retrospective feeling,
Leaves a momentary thrill;
All the wounds of sorrow healing,
For my hopes are with thee still.
Though I've bid adieu to pleasure,
With her giddy, fleeting train;
And her song of joyous measure,
I may never raise again.
Yet the chilling gloom of sadness,
Waving o'er me, brooding ill,
Emits one ray of gladness,
For my hopes are with thee still.
When the reckless world is sleeping,
And the star of eve shines gay;
While the night winds softly creeping
O'er the waters, die away;
When the moonbeams softly playing,
Silver o'er the glistening rill;
'Tis to thee my thoughts are straying,
For my hopes are with thee still.
When the fragrant breath of morning
Wanders o'er the silent dews;
And flowers the vale adorning,
Do their balmy sweets diffuse.
When the orb of day appearing,
From behind the distant hill,
Gilds the landscape bright and cheering,
E'en my hopes are with thee still.
_Leeds._
J.B. WALKER.
* * * * *
ANTIQUITY OF MALT LIQUOR.
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