Revive life’s morning dreams, when youth is fled,
And, fraught with images of other days,
Recall the loved, the absent, and the dead.
His the dear art whose spells awhile renew
Hope’s first illusions in their tenderest bloom—
Oh! what were life, unless such moments threw
Bright gleams, “like angel visits,” o’er its gloom?
THE VAUDOIS VALLEYS.
Yes! thou hast met the sun’s last smile
From the haunted hills of Rome;