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!