And where are they? The sweeping tide
Of onward and resistless time
Is strewn with wrecks of baffled pride—
Conceptions high, and hopes sublime!
Dreams, that have shed upon the earth
The gladdening hues of paradise;
Their charm is flown, hush'd is their mirth,
And all their kindling exstasies.
III.
It may be that the heart was sad,
And wrapt in sorrow, yesterday;
Perchance the scenes that once could glad
Thy spirit, passed like spring away;
That on the waste of years was seen
Nought that might cheer the gloomy breast—
No sunny spot of vernal green,
On which the thoughtful eye could rest.
IV.
What recks it now, that then a cloud
Was dimly brooding o'er thy head;
That to the tempest thou hast bowed,
When joy's ephemeral beams had fled?
That day hath gone—its care is o'er—
Its shadows all have passed away;
Time's wave hath murmur'd by that shore,
And round thee now is but to-day.
V.
Then what is yesterday?—a breath,
A whisper of the summer breeze;
A thing of silent birth and death,
Colored by man's fond sympathies.
It had its buds—they all are gone;
Its fears—but they are now no more:
Its hopes—but they were quickly flown—
Its pure delights—and they are o'er!
VI.
Look ye not back, save but to glean
From the deep memories of the past—
From the illusions of each scene,
The thought that time is flying fast:
That vanity on things of earth
Is by a pointed diamond writ;
Its hours of wild and transient mirth
Are midnight skies by meteors lit.