What heart has not false Hope misled
In fancy's early dream?
Who has not revelled in the sweets
Of childhood's careless day?
'Tis painful, 'mid the wreck of time
Eternally gone by,
To scan the bliss of other years,
Bliss that shall ne'er return.
To some, existence is a sea
Of calm unruffled joy;
To others, 'tis a troubled deep
Of wretchedness and tears.
For me awaits no airy dream
Of pure unclouded joy:
Anticipation dims my way,
And retrospection grieves.
And what is Earth?--a wildering maze,
Alluring, yet untrue:
The heir of hope may smile--the child
Of misery may die.
To him by secret woe oppressed,
The world bestows no sigh;
Ne'er smooths his pillow, or bedews
His unobtrusive grave.
Yet there are those that keenly feel
The wounds a friend endures;
The griefs their own sad hearts have known
Excite kind sympathy.
I ask not for the false lament
Wealth's minion would bestow.
Give me in life's expiring pang,
The tear of Poverty.
