Like an unlaid ghost some scene of slaughter:
All mournful was the sight.
Then I thought of seasons, when, long ago,
Ere Hope's clear sky was dimm'd by sorrow,
How bright seem'd the flowers, and the trees how green,
How lengthen'd the blue summer days had been;
And what pure delight the young spirit's glow,
From the bosom of earth and air, could borrow
Out of all lovely things.
Then my heart leapt to days, when, a careless boy,