II.

    There is a silent power, that o'er Our bosoms wields a wizard might, Restoring bygone years to light, With the same vivid glow they wore, Ere time had o'er their features cast The shadowy shroud that veils the past：-To those who walk in wisdom's way, 'Tis welcome as an angel's smile； But those who from her counsels stray, Whose hearts are full of craft and guile, To them 'tis as a constant goad—— A weight that doubles Sorrow's load,—— A silent searcher of the breast, Which will not let the guilty rest. In childhood's pleasant -season born, It haunts us in all after time； From youth's serene and sunny morn To manhood's stern meridian prime. From manhood, till the weight of years, And life's dull constant toil, and tears, And passion's ever raging storm, Have dimmed the eye and bowed the form.

    True, youth, of hope and love possessed, By friends——youth has no foes——caressed, Finds in the present——happy boy！——

    Enough of gaiety and joy； And man, whose visionary brain Begets that idle phantom train Of shadows——Power, Wealth, and Fame,—— A scourge——a bubble——and a name—— So often and so vainly sought—— Has little time for peaceful thought； And so they turn not back to gaze, Where faithful memory displays Her record of departed days； But oh！ how loves the eye of age, To move along its pictured page, To scan and number, o'er and o'er, The joys that may return no more；

    The hopes that, blighted in their bloom, By disappointment's chilly gloom, Were given sadly to the tomb； The loves so wildly once enjoyed, By time's unsparing hand destroyed； The bright imaginative dreams, Portrayed by restless fancy's beams, By restless fancy's beams portrayed, Alas！ but to delude and fade！ To count these o'er and o'er again Is age's sole resort from pain.

    Then, stranger, marvel not that I Have claimed so long thy listening ear； I could not pass in silence by Themes to my memory so dear, As those which make my story's close—— Mazelli's love, Mazelli's woes.