John Watson Dalby

THE MIRROR of my life, ye lie before me!

Reflecting all its gladness and its gloom;—

There the wild joy ye never may restore me,

That, when I saw ye first, came flushing o’er me;

And there the eternal barrier of the tomb.

Crowding upon me here what memories come,

Glad meeting, pleasant lingering, and gay strolling:

Alas, how briefly shines the vision for me!

Away the glory and the joy are rolling,—

Away the glowing Future which it bore me!

And through the mind, confusing sense and sight,

Comes to my startled ear the death-bell tolling;

And a shroud covers Beauty and Delight,

Mantling the gauds of morn in glooms of night.