When life’s bright summer days have gone, and all their beauty fled,
It brings us back the halcyon hours, that perish’d with the dead.
Oh! soft as music’s dying fall, from some loved voice’s tone,
Thine influence, mild and gentle power, across my mind is thrown;
Upon the harp strings of my heart, thine angel spirits play,
While fond old memories light its gloom, with many a moonlit ray.
THE CONFESSIONS OF A MISER.
———
BY J. ROSS BROWNE.