Shaded glen, and gray old cavern, where the foamy cascade fell;
And birds, the starry-wing’d, flitting through the rich perfume,
Filled with their gladsome minstrelsy the depths of leafy gloom.
II.
I remember, I remember, in my musings sad and lone,
The beauty and the brightness, that have vanished, and are gone,
Rosy clouds at eve reposing in the crimson-curtained west,
Mocking with their tranquil splendor the human heart’s unrest.
They are gliding through my visions, as they used to do of yore,
Yet the gentle thoughts they wakened, shall they come back no more?