Weep, if thy tears can wash away the stain.
Call back the vows, that once to heaven were plighted,
Vows full of love, of innocence and truth.
Call back the scenes in which thy soul delighted:
Call back the dream that blest thy early youth.
Flow silver stream, tho’ threatening tempests lower,
Bright, mild and clear, thy gentle waters flow;
Round thy green banks, the spring’s young blossoms flower;
O’er thy soft waves the balmy zephyrs blow.
—Yet, all in vain; for never spring arraying