But if in wandering thither Thou find'st she mocks my prayer, Then leave those wreaths to wither Upon the cold bank there; And tell her thus, when youth is o'er, Her lone and loveless Charms shall be Thrown by upon life's weedy shore. Like those sweet flowers from thee.
All that's bright must fade,-- The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest. Stars that shine and fall;-- The flower that drops in springing;-- These, alas! are types of all To which our hearts are clinging. All that's bright must fade,-- The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest?
Who would seek our prize Delights that end in aching? Who would trust to ties That every hour are breaking? Better far to be In utter darkness lying, Than to be blest with light and see That light for ever flying. All that's bright must fade,-- The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest!
So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, That which was the sweeter even I could not tell,-- That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, Or that tear of passion, which blest our farewell. To meet was a heaven and to part thus another,-- Our joy and our sorrow seemed rivals in bliss; Oh! Cupid's two eyes are not liker each other In smiles and in tears than that moment to this.
The first was like day-break, new, sudden, delicious,-- The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet; The last like the farewell of daylight, more precious, More glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set. Our meeting, tho' happy, was tinged by a sorrow To think that such happiness could not remain; While our parting, tho' sad, gave a hope that to-morrow Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again.
Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells, Of youth and home and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are past away: And many a heart, that then was gay. Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.
And so 'twill be when I am gone: That tuneful peal will still ring on, While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!