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Joys balmy roses crown'd life's morn—
But ere its noon, became a thorn!
I'll take the harp—but may not tell
What gives its tones that mournful swell
Of feeling's extasy.
But ere its noon, became a thorn!
I'll take the harp—but may not tell
What gives its tones that mournful swell
Of feeling's extasy.
I often mark the river's course,
And seek its devious distant source;—
I love to hear its wildest note,
And echoes that in ether float,
Like sounds of other days!
And seek its devious distant source;—
I love to hear its wildest note,
And echoes that in ether float,
Like sounds of other days!
Sounds, heard beside Esk's winding stream,
Where life had many a placid beam!
But rapid as the river's flow,
But transient as the meteor's glow—
The bliss my life displays!
Where life had many a placid beam!
But rapid as the river's flow,
But transient as the meteor's glow—
The bliss my life displays!
You ask, if here I mean to stay,
To meet the cheering summer day ?
No, stranger, no :—I've far to roam,
To seek some new, some distant home;
To seek the peace that's fled.
To meet the cheering summer day ?
No, stranger, no :—I've far to roam,
To seek some new, some distant home;
To seek the peace that's fled.
I thought ere now to view the scene,
Where Erin boasts her hills of green:—
I thought to climb Plinlimmon's mount;
Or near the Conway's murm'ring fount,
To find an humble shed.
Where Erin boasts her hills of green:—
I thought to climb Plinlimmon's mount;
Or near the Conway's murm'ring fount,
To find an humble shed.
