As down life's morning stream we glide, Full oft some Flower stoops o'er its side, And beckons to the smiling shore, Where roses strew the landscape o'er:
Yet as we reach that Flower to clasp, It seems to mock the cheated grasp, And whisper soft, with siren glee, “My bloom is not — oh not for thee!”
Within Youth's flowery vale I tread, By some entrancing shadow led — And Echo to my call replies — Yet, as she answers, lo, she flies!
And, as I seem to reach her cell — The grotto, where she weaves her spell — The Nymph's sweet voice afar I hear — So Love departs, as we draw near!
Upon a mountain's dizzy height, Ambition's temple gleams with light: Proud forms are moving fair within, And bid us strive that light to win.
O'er giddy cliff and crag we strain, And reach the mountain top — in vain! For lo! the temple, still afar, Shines cold and distant as a star.
I hear a voice, whose accents dear Melt, like soft music, in mine ear. A gentle hand, that seems divine, Is warmly, fondly clasped in mine;
And lips upon my cheeks are pressed, That whisper tones from regions blest: But soon I start — for friendship's kiss Is gone, and lo! a serpent's hiss.
The sun goes down, and shadows rest On the gay scenes by morning blest; The gathering clouds invest the air — Yet one bright constant Star is there.
Onward we press, with heavy load, O'er tangled path and rough'ning road, For still that Star shines bright before; But now it sinks, and all is o'er!
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