They have gone, like life's first pleasures, And faded in smoke away, And the few that are left are like bosom friends In the evening of our day. We are far from the mount of battle,[B] Where the wreck first met mine eye, And now where twin-forts[C] in the olden time rose, Thro' the Race, like a swift steed, our little bark goes, And our bugle's notes echo through Anthony's Nose, So wrecks and rhymes--good-by. [B] Stony Point. [C] Forts Clinton and Montgomery. FINIS.