Oh! why should Memory love to dwell
On pleasures which can come no more?
And why should Fancy's magic spell
So brightly gild each scene of yore?
Ev'n Hope's delusive, glittering beam
May cease to shed its cheering light;
And, dull and cold, Time's onward stream
May flow before the aching sight.
But Memory, like a fairy dream,
Still haunts the pensive view,
And, like mild Evening's lingering beam,
Clothes fading scenes in loveliest hue.
The Past, with all its glittering train
Of joys, so sweet, so quickly fled,
At Memory's touch returns again,
To cheer the heart whose hopes are dead.
Fond Retrospection lingers near
Each scene of bliss which could not last,
And links again that chain so dear,
Which Memory flings around the past.
Hopes, Friendships, _Loves_--a seraph band--
Which Time's cold blast had rudely torn,
As Memory waves her magic wand,
With more than former bliss return.
They come, like Music's distant breath,
So soft, so sweet their whisperings are--
And fadeless is that lovely wreath
With which they bind the brow of care.
Oh! Memory's joys will _always_ last--
No cloud can dim their brilliant ray;
Still bright and brighter glows the Past,
As Hope's sweet visions fade away.