I must hasten home, said the ball-room belle,
As day began to dawn;
And the glittering jewels her dark hair decked,
Shone bright as the dews of morn;
I’ll forsake the joys of this changing world,
Which leave in the heart but a thorn.
I must hasten home, said a dying youth,
Who had vainly sought for fame—
Who had vowed to win a laurel wreath,
And immortalize his name;