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FADED PLEASURES.
How happy they, who, blest with health, Can tread the flow'r-enamelled plain,Nor heave one sigh for pomp or wealth, Nor waste their days in search of gain.
The happiest of their kind they roam, From heart-corroding-anguish free;Their's is a humble, happy home, Oh!—had such bliss been stor'd for me!
Cheerless I see the sun arise; And listless mark his setting beamWith crimson paint the western skies; And still of faded pleasures dream.
Pleasures that never can return; Yet, ah! while mem'ry holds her place,Their rapid flight shall Ella mourn, And still those faded pleasures trace.
