Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright

    My heart's chain wove;

When my dream of life, from morn till night,

    Was love, still love.

    New hope may bloom,

    And days may come,

  Of milder, calmer beam,

But there's nothing half so sweet in life

  As love's young dream;

No, there's nothing half so sweet in life

  As love's young dream.

Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar,

      When wild youth's past;

Tho' he win the wise, who frowned before,

      To smile at last;

      He'll never meet

      A joy so sweet,

  In all his noon of fame,

As when first he sung to woman's ear

  His soul-felt flame,

And, at every close, she blushed to hear

  The one lov'd name.

No,—that hallowed form is ne'er forgot

      Which first love traced;

Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot

      On memory's waste.

      'Twas odor fled

      As soon as shed;

  'Twas morning's winged dream;

'Twas a light, that ne'er can shine again

  On life's dull stream:

Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again

  On life's dull stream.