I traverse oft in thought the battle-plain
Of my past life,‘ mid many a shatter'd dream
Of pleasure, and of hope, which youth in vain
Based on the shifting sands of Time's swift stream,
Fond bulwarks‘ gainst the strong assaults of pain;
And‘ mid their ruins, like an exiled man
Gazing on scenes where he can dwell no more,
I stand and mourn their sweet enchantment o'er,
Where both life's pleasures and its cares began.
Earth crumbles‘ neath our feet as we walk on,
And leaves a gulf behind none can retrace;
Its pleasures flash a moment and are gone;
But if we treasure in our soul love's grace,
That will refresh and gladden all our race.