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? Oh! many an hour I lingered to watch their gorgeous dyes In soft and shadowy outlines against the purple skies; Through their regal halls, air-woven, the parting radiance streamed, Ever varying like the opal's hue: and often have I deemed They were come with tender message, in the holy hush of even, From the Loved of years departed, spirit-guardians in Heaven! III. To my memory come back darkly in the stilly midnight hour, Dim and faded now, the pictures of Life's early glow and power, When the world was arched with halos of hopes unmixed with fears, And I marvelled they should tell me but of sorrowing and tears! When my spirit loved to revel in its palaces of dreams, Lit with lightning-flash of fancy, rosy bloom and starry gleams; Listening to the choral harmonies that filled each lofty dome, Like the clear and liquid music in the Nereid's azure home. And it looked from its proud towers on the Future's magic scene, Till the Present grew all gladsome with the brightness of its sheen; Far off-notes of triumph swelling, floated up from years to come, Silver blast of clarion blending with the roll of stormy drum! IV. I remember, I remember, in my vigils cold and lone, Brilliant reveries, burning fantasies, forever fled and gone! Stately visions passed before me in the mystic realms of Mind, Shapes of glory lightly wafted on the balmy summer wind; Forms of pale and pensive loveliness, with eyes like pensile stars, Such as never yet were beaming 'mid this world's discordant jars. And their whispers wild, unearthly, unutterable, fell like a harp-string's dying echo, or a fair young spirit's knell, On my soul amid the shadows of my native forest trees, Rustling melancholy, lowly, in the wailing of the breeze, Till, unknowing pain or agony, I've wept such blissful tears As shall never, never flow again 'mid darker later years! V.