Song.

SONG.

THE season comes when first we met, But you return no more; Why cannot I the days forget, Which time can ne'er restore? O days too sweet, too bright to last, Are you indeed for ever past?

The fleeting shadows of delight, In memory I trace; In fancy stop their rapid flight, And all the past replace: But, ah, I wake to endless woes, And tears the fading visions close!