I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs,

And careless sipp'd the morning air;

Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours,

Nor saw that Happiness was there!

Alas! I often since have wept

That Gratitude unconscious slept!

For Truth and Pity then were young,

And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds;

Affection's meek, assuasive tongue,

Had sweet, but most capricious sounds.

Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled,

And only turn'd to seek the dead!

Oh! from a garden of delight,

What fair memento did I bring!

What amaranth of colours bright,

To mark the promise of my spring?

Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet,

With tears of lasting, vain regret!