SONG.

I have lived, and I have loved,

Have lived, and loved in vain;

Some joy, and many woes, have proved,

Which may not be again.

My heart is old--my eye is sere--

Joy wins no smile, and grief no tear.

I would hope, if hope I could,

Tho’ sure to be deceived;

There’s sweetness in a thought of good,

If ’tis not quite believed--

But fancy ne’er repeats the strain

That memory once reproves, for vain.

Here endeth my journal.