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RECOLLECTIONS.
What heart-chords have been broken, what bright dreams
Been shadowed by the hue of grief. No more
The Egeria of my spirit-worship haunts
The grove and wood. No charm can woo her back,
She will not hear my call, she answers not
The witching spell of fancy. It is not
That nature has grown old. Her skies are still
As blue, her trees as green, her dews as soft,
Her flowers as sweet, her clouds as beautiful,
Her birds, her waves, her minds as musical
As when I was a child—Alas! the change
Is in my heart.
Been shadowed by the hue of grief. No more
The Egeria of my spirit-worship haunts
The grove and wood. No charm can woo her back,
She will not hear my call, she answers not
The witching spell of fancy. It is not
That nature has grown old. Her skies are still
As blue, her trees as green, her dews as soft,
Her flowers as sweet, her clouds as beautiful,
Her birds, her waves, her minds as musical
As when I was a child—Alas! the change
Is in my heart.
Oh, blessed memories
Of home! ye are the worshipped household gods
Upon my spirit's altar. Vanished years!
Ye are the dew-drops that my spirit's flowers
Enfold within their petals. Years have passed
Since that all-mournful day, when, with a sad
And breaking heart, and streaming eyes, I left
The scenes of childhood, and went forth to find
Of home! ye are the worshipped household gods
Upon my spirit's altar. Vanished years!
Ye are the dew-drops that my spirit's flowers
Enfold within their petals. Years have passed
Since that all-mournful day, when, with a sad
And breaking heart, and streaming eyes, I left
The scenes of childhood, and went forth to find
