Love's Young Dream.

Oh! the days are gone, when Beauty bright             My heart's chain wove;     When my dream of life, from morn till night,             Was love, still love.             New hope may bloom,             And days may come,         Of milder, calmer beam,     But there's nothing half so sweet in life         As love's young dream;     No, there's nothing half so sweet in life         As love's young dream.     Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar,                 When wild youth's past;     Tho' he win the wise, who frowned before,                 To smile at last;                 He'll never meet                 A joy so sweet,         In all his noon of fame,     As when first he sung to woman's ear         His soul-felt flame,     And, at every close, she blushed to hear         The one lov'd name.     No,--that hallowed form is ne'er forgot                 Which first love traced;     Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot                 On memory's waste.                 'Twas odor fled                 As soon as shed;         'Twas morning's winged dream;     'Twas a light, that ne'er can shine again         On life's dull stream:     Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again         On life's dull stream.