Page:Amulet 1826.pdf/4



Oh life, what wouldst thou be, but that thine end Has hope!

heart hath turned away From its early dream; To me its course has been Like a mountain stream.

Pure and clear it left Its place of birth; But soon on every wave Were taints of earth.

Weeds grew upon the banks, And as the waters swept A bad or useless part, Of all they kept