When the soft tear steals silently down from the eye,
Take no note of its course, nor detect the slow sigh;
From some spring of shy sorrow its origin flows,
Some tender remembrance that weeps as it goes.

Ah! it is not to say what will bring to the mind
The sweet joys departed, the friends left behind;
A tune, or a song, or the time of the year,
Strikes the key of reflection, and moans in the ear.

Thro' the gay scenes of youth the remembrancer strays,
Till mem'ry steps back on old pleasures to gaze;
Fleeting shadows they seem that glide calmly away,
The remains of past hours, and the ghosts of a day.

When we set out in life every thing has its charms,
Enkindles the fancy, and all the heart warms;
'Tis this makes us look on the joys that are past
With an eye that turns coolly to glance on the last.

Let the tear then flow on, nor mark the full eye,
'Tis the soul's secret off'ring no mortal should spy;
Few hearts are prepar'd for a rite so divine,
When the feelings alone sacrifice at the shrine.