VIII.

The plains are clad with verdure new,
And the green leaf is on the tree;
The mountains bold burst on my view,

But they are not the same to me;—
Old friends with faces new ye be,

But not with lovelier looks appear;

Leafless and naked all were ye,

Ere fled the last departed year!

IX.

The blithe bird now is on the wing,
Floating on seas of airy bliss;

I own it is a sunny spring,

But last spring was as bright as this! What birds and flowers do I not miss

What hues of beauty, sounds of love; Though other flowers the streamlet kiss, And other warblers haunt the grove?

X.

Last year! last year! O startling words,

Solemn as deep sea-sounds ye come,

Sadly ye sweep the bosom's chords—
The beautiful are in the tomb!

O Mary! where is all thy bloom,

Thy brow, so bright-thine eye, so clear? Where are they? Ask the fatal doom,

That shrouded the departed year!

XI.

O thou art gone! and yet I see
Thee still in every orb of night;
They look so calmly down on me,

I think it is thine own love-light.
And ah! there is no zephyr's flight
But what 't is Mary's voice I deem;
Away! ye visions of delight,

Ye are but Passion's faithless dream!

XII.

No more! no more,-I cannot sing
With words so sad upon my tongue;
Memory! thou frail, dejected thing,

Why promptest thou my mournful song? Down to the dust ye feelings strong,

Dust as ye are, despite of tears;— For lo! pale shadows sweep along,

Shades of the sad departed years!