Poetry: The Memory Of Joys That Are Past

There is a tear of sweet relief - A tear of rapture and of grief ; The feeüng heart alone can knovv What soft emotions bid ït flow. Jt is when metnory charms the mind, With tender images refined; 'Tis when Ihe magie spells restore; Departed friends and joys no more. There is an hour- a pensive hour, And oh! how dear its soothing power; It is when twiüght spreads her veil, And steals along the silent dale, 'Tis when the fading blossom close, When all is eiJence and repose: Then meraory wakes, and loves to mourn The days that never can return. There is a strain- a plaintive strain, The source of joy, and yet of pain; It is the song of whose dying measure Some friend beloved has heard with i ure, Soroe friend who ne'er again may hear The melt'mg lay to memory dear; Ah! then by magie spells restore Visions of the blissful days no more.