I clasped thee to this beating heart
And vowed for wealth and fame to rove,
That we might meet no more to part.
Years have gone by—long weary years—
Of toil to win the comfort now,
Of ardent hopes—of sick’ning fears—
And Wealth is mine! but where art thou?
Fame’s dazzling dream for thy dear sake
Rose brighter than before to me;
I clung to all I deem’d could make