’Twas an illusive scene—that picture fair
Hope’s rainbow pencil drew;
Those Eden bowers have faded, and those walks
Where brightest flowers grew,
Now echo not the sound of lightsome steps;
Those flowers, pale and few,
Close up their faded petals mournfully,
Nor drink the balmy dew;
But I—I will no longer vainly droop
O’er such a scene as this;